


And I Play It On Repeat

by anytaintedcreature (wrongwayco)



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Friends to Lovers, Just Boys Being Dumb With Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19130929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrongwayco/pseuds/anytaintedcreature
Summary: Rowan's dreading going back home for Thanksgiving. He's dreading the questions, the requests to set him up on dates, and most of all, the inevitable disappointment. When Erik offers to go with him and pretend to be his boyfriend, Rowan's not sure whether it's going to be a dream or a nightmare. They've both got a messy history with Cobblestone and secrets kept too close, to say nothing of the fact that they're both in love with the other. But it's Erik, and he's Rowan, and they both mean well, right? It'll be fine.Then again, what is it they say about the road paved with good intentions?A Modern Fake Dating AU





	1. Prologue: Allegro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flutiebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutiebear/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! So it's here, my long ago promised fake dating disaster. It took longer than I'd have liked - life is a bitch sometimes, ya know? Anyway, here's the prologue. Though it's only four chapters, the later parts will be decently long, so this probably won't be updated quite as quickly as Dream was, but it IS mostly finished and will be complete very soon. But if I stare at this prologue any longer I'm gonna hurl it into a volcano. 
> 
> For Flutiebear, who wanted luminerik being dumb and fake dating and got a lot more than she probably bargained for. Thanks always for being you. <3

* * *

 

_Allegro: performed at a brisk tempo_

* * *

 

 

His mother was going to kill him the moment he got home.

She’d strangle him, or maybe she’d string him up with the laundry. There would, without a doubt, be endless amounts of shouting.

Rowan’s knee started bouncing. Within seconds, it hit the underside of the desk and he hissed at the starburst of pain that radiated down his leg. There’d be a bruise there later, he knew; that is, if he survived long enough for bruises to form. Sixteen years was likely to be as far as he got.

Nerves still buzzing, he picked up his previously abandoned pencil and drummed it against the edge of his seat in a repetitive rhythm, one that only got louder and louder until-

“Could you cut that out?”

Rowan’s pencil went still as his hand froze. His knee stopped vibrating against the chair leg. He took a deep breath before turning around to face the boy behind him. He was certain he’d never seen him before - with dyed blue hair poking out from under a hood and narrowed, accusing eyes almost the exact same shade, Rowan thought he’d have stood out in recent memory. But then, Rowan didn’t make a habit of hanging out in detention, either.

 _God,_ he was so screwed.

Oddly enough, something about the angry slant of the boy’s mouth drained Rowan’s indignation instead of fueling it. He felt his face heat up, and the eraser end of his pencil ended up between his teeth. His face twisted at the foul taste. “Sorry,” Rowan mumbled. He made a move to turn around and considered the merits of sinking into the floor instead. He paused in the act when the other boy canted his head slightly to one side, a light eyebrow arching.

“What are you in for, anyway?”

Rowan blinked. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the attending teacher - the man was utterly uninterested in their conversation, to say nothing of the fact that they were supposed to pass the hour in silence - before turning around fully in his chair. He studied his companion with a mild fascination. “Hell if I know,” he admitted. “They said I did something wrong, but I didn’t.”

His fellow detainee’s lips curved upward in a lazy smile that set Rowan’s heart fluttering. He slumped back in his chair like he owned it. “Huh. The usual story, then.”

Rowan wasn’t sure what else to say, but he felt the desperate urge to keep his attention regardless. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, but he couldn’t be bothered to stop and take a moment to analyze it further. “What about you?”

The boy scowled, surly once more. Rowan regretted being the one to drive away his smile. “I tried to steal some shit out of a gym locker,” he grumbled. “Or so they say.”

Rowan considered that for a second before asking mildly, “Well, did you?”

“Sure, but it was _mine_ first. No one listens to me, though.”

He looked like freedom, Rowan realized. It was something he never felt he had much of, despite being able to wander their small town at little more than his own whims. No, he existed primarily in a cage of his own making, barred in by fear and the desperation to just be _enough._

“I could help you,” Rowan offered, the words flying from his mouth before he could process them. “I could help you get your stuff back.”

The other boy perked up like someone had pulled a string; his shoulders lifted from their slump, his eyebrows shot up. After a second, his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

His tone was suspicious, and Rowan found he couldn’t blame him for it. He shrugged one shoulder. “Why not?”

Somehow, it seemed the right thing to say. He blinked, his expression shifting into one more contemplative. Finally, he smiled again. “Alright. The name’s Erik, by the way.”

Rowan felt his own smile bloom to match, a flower before the rising sun. “Rowan,” he handed back. He wondered then if finding himself in trouble that afternoon might not have been such a disaster, after all.

* * *

* * *

 

“Is that you, dear? I’ve got your favorite cooking. You know, Gemma came by looking for you, where have you been?”

As the door fell shut behind them, Erik shifted closer to the nearest corner. Rowan slipped a hand around his elbow and hauled him into the kitchen even as he dug in his heels. Rowan offered him a look he hoped was reassuring before calling out, “Hey, Mom.”

She stood at the stove, outfitted in the brightly patterned apron he’d given her many, many Mother’s days past. When she turned around to face them though, her smile faded.

Erik’s shoulders climbed up to his ears as he tried to make himself as small as possible in the middle of the kitchen. Rowan knew what his mother saw first when she gave Erik a once-over: dyed hair, guarded expression, and a defiant jut to his chin. To a mother, Rowan was sure Erik looked like trouble.

Erik gave her back a measuring stare, like he was expecting to get a boot to the rear at any moment and only wanted a warning to flee first. Mom’s gaze flicked between them, and Rowan gave her the pleading look, all wide open blue eyes that had saved him from punishment more than once in his life.

Silently, she studied her unexpected house guest once more. Rowan knew that, when she looked closer, she’d see the way Erik’s t-shirt hung on him, the fabric far too thin for October. She’d notice that he had enough slack on the belt that bound hole-ridden jeans to his hips to nearly wrap his frame twice. Her expression softened, and Rowan exhaled, offering a grateful smile.

At the end of the day, he knew his mother couldn’t help but adopt a stray.

“Who’s your friend, love?”

Rowan elbowed him. Erik grunted. “Erik,” he told her, before adding, “Ma’am.”

She looked amused. “Dinner should be ready by six. If you plan to stay the night there’s an extra blanket in the hall closet, dear. And, Rowan?”

Rowan paused in the act of shoving Erik through the doorway. “Yeah?”

Mom raised her eyebrows. “Gemma?”

“I’ll text her,” Rowan promised, before following his friend into the next room.

Erik’s relief was palpable. Whether from simply being out of the room or from being allowed to stay, Rowan wasn’t sure, but he grinned at him anyway. “What do you wanna do?”

Erik shrugged one shoulder and looked around the room. Rowan felt a bit vulnerable at how intensely he surveyed his surroundings. The walls were plastered with pictures of Rowan in all his incarnations: one of a chubby-cheeked toddler hanging on Chalky’s arm; multiple birthday parties in his mother’s embrace or blowing out candles; one of him at nine, holding up a largemouth bass with a gap-toothed grin. Most of them, though, were of him with his head bent close to a blonde one with red ribbons.

His phone felt heavier inside his pocket. He could invite her over, but Gemma didn’t like Erik and Erik didn’t care for Gemma, and, well...it’d just been such a long time since he’d had a new friend.

The odd tension fled Rowan’s shoulders when Erik said nothing and shifted his focus to the piano in the corner of the living room instead. “Who plays?”

Rowan’s face flushed. “Uh, me. I mean, I play some. I’ve been in lessons.”

Erik cracked a smile. “Yeah? How long?”

“Since I was six,” Rowan admitted. Erik’s smile grew wider still.

“Play something,” he ordered. There was no mocking in his voice, only curiosity.

“You sure?” Rowan hedged. “The PlayStation is upstairs, dinner is-”

“Not for twenty minutes,” Erik said. He put a hand between Rowan’s shoulders and pushed him towards the hulking instrument that loomed in the corner. “Come on, please?”

He couldn’t say no. Rowan sank onto the bench. Erik leaned against the edge, watching closely. It took nearly everything Rowan had in him not to squirm under the scrutiny as he placed his hands on the keys, took a breath, and began.

After a few minutes, Erik asked quietly, “What’s that called?”

“A warm-up,” Rowan told him, lips twitching.

“Well, it sounded good.”

At that, Rowan smiled in earnest. Erik didn’t seem bored - if anything, Erik seemed fascinated by the play of his fingers and the music that followed, so Rowan started in on the sonata he’d been practicing that week. The notes were somber and resonant, and within seconds, he was lost in it.

Silently, Erik dropped onto the bench beside him. Erik’s right knee touched his left, and Rowan missed a step in the movement before picking it back up gracefully enough.

When he snuck a glance, Rowan noticed Erik had his eyes closed.

So he kept playing, steadily filling the room with sound until his mother came into the room to fetch them for dinner. When Rowan’s fingers stilled and the music faded away, Erik opened his eyes.

Rowan turned to smile at him and paused, taken aback by the open emotion in his expression; the sad, wistful look in his eyes.

“Are you-” Rowan started, only for Erik to clap him on the back as he stood up from the bench and gave his head a hasty shake.

“That was cool, man. I’ve never had a private concert before.”

Rowan flushed and rose to his feet, following as Erik wandered back towards the kitchen. “Well,” he started, “I can play whenever you want, if you liked it so much.”

Erik tossed him a look over his shoulder. There was still something soft in his eyes, even as his lips quirked up into a smirk. “I did,” he admitted, “Thanks.”

* * *

 

He waited until he could see the hall light wink out under the door, until he heard Rowan’s mother’s bedroom door close behind her over the sounds of rapid gunfire from the television. Erik stretched out his leg and nudged Rowan’s knee with his toes. “Want to go out on the roof?”

Rowan blinked, mulling over the suggestion as he paused the game. After only a moment’s deliberation, he jumped to his feet and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt off the foot of his bed before tossing it to Erik. A smile lit his face. “Let’s go.”

Erik yanked the offered garment down over his shoulders and left the hood up over his hair. It smelled like Rowan, Erik realized, his stomach doing an unbearable dance at the thought. Like sunshine, like peppermint, like _boy._ The sleeves just barely covered his hands; it was too big like most of the things he was given to wear, but in Rowan’s borrowed clothes, it felt more like comfort than carelessness.

When he looked up, Rowan had pulled on another sweater. He shoved his window open and cast a wary glance down at the ground. “So is this a hobby of yours, or something?”

Erik grinned at him. There was something about the way Rowan looked at the world - a bit nervously, but still willing to do the things that scared him. It made Erik want to show him new things and kept him constantly reaching for the light of another smile. “Yeah, kind of. Your roof is good for it - not too tall, and over by the shed you’d have a clear view.”

If he wondered what they'd be viewing, he didn’t ask. “Lead the way, then,” Rowan told him. Erik clambered out onto the roof, turning around to tug on Rowan’s sleeve to make certain he followed. They made their way over sandpaper shingles, silent as wraiths in the dark, until they could step down onto the roof of the shed where it wasn’t as steep or as rough on palms and bare feet.

Erik sat down before leaning back. He kept his knees up and feet planted to keep him in place. After a second of hesitation, Rowan did the same, settling down closely enough at his side for their arms to brush when the other shifted. Inexplicably, it made Erik’s heart pound faster.

He lifted a hand and pointed up at the stars. “See that one? That’s Cygnus,” Erik explained, drawing a cross in the air with his finger to map it. “The Swan. Though one of the myths says that Cygnus got a place in the sky because he spent days collecting his brother’s bones after his chariot was shot down.”

“That’s morbid,” Rowan said, his voice hushed. “Can you find any more? Where are the ones we can make wishes on?”

“I don’t wish on stars,” Erik told him, perhaps more bitterly than he’d meant. But Rowan was smiling, so Erik squinted, studying the sky before pointing again. “Aquarius, there,” he murmured. “It’s supposed to represent Ganymede. Zeus chose him to be the cup-bearer for the gods because he thought he was smoking hot.”

Rowan laughed. “What about the big dipper?”

Erik scoffed. “Come on, that one’s easy. That, and Orion.” He glanced over and caught Rowan facing him, a lazy smile curling his mouth.

“Do you know all of them?” Rowan asked.

“I, uh,” Erik blinked. “I know a few, yeah. Some of them can only be seen at certain times, but-” He shrugged one shoulder. “I liked that no matter where I had to move, the stars didn’t really change.”

Immediately he wished he could take it back, a truth that felt too raw once it’d been whispered into the dark. He didn’t want to see pity in Rowan’s eyes.

Rowan only looked thoughtful as his eyes roamed Erik’s face. After a moment he reached out, his fingers barely brushing the beaded necklace Erik always wore. Erik felt his breath catch in his chest.

“This is yours,” Rowan murmured. “Right?”

Erik understood what he meant. The necklace was a constant in an ever-changing torrent of whatever scraps were tossed his way. The necklace was _his,_ while everything else he had was always someone else’s first.

“My sister made it for me,” he whispered, barely breathing as Rowan’s hand lingered for a second longer before he drew it back. When Erik chanced a glance at his face, Rowan’s eyes were soft, colorless in the darkness that wrapped them together.

“Where’s your sister now?” Rowan asked.

Erik looked away, a familiar gnawing sensation opening up a hole in his stomach. “She got adopted out about a year ago, by a couple right outside Atlanta,” he muttered. “So she’s close, but - they don’t like me. They can’t keep us apart forever, though,” he rushed to add, vehement. “We’re family.”

Rowan frowned. “I don’t get why they would want to. That seems...unnecessarily mean.”

Erik huffed, a mockery of a laugh with no mirth. “I’m a bad influence, didn’t you know?”

Rowan was quiet for so long Erik began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep before he said, “My biological grandfather is close to Atlanta. Next time I go see him, you can come with me and we can find your sister.”

Erik’s throat burned, hot and thick. When he opened his mouth to speak, no words managed to scrape through. He wasn’t sure what there was he could say, anyway. Slowly, he stretched his hand across the scant space between them until his hand brushed against Rowan’s.

Beside him, he heard a sharp breath.

Erik twined his pinkie finger around Rowan’s, the barest hint of a connection.

Rowan tightened his hold in response, an unspoken promise.

Erik relaxed against the roof at his back. He felt secure in a way he couldn’t remember feeling in years. He was warm in a hoodie that smelled like the boy beside him, the first person he could call a friend in a long, long time. He thought again about what Rowan had said, about making wishes, and looked up to find the brightest star splashed across the canvas of the sky.

 _I want to stay,_ he thought, screwing his eyes shut. _Don’t make me let him go, too._

* * *

* * *

 

The old fishing dock behind the General Store had loose boards at just about every other step and a gaping hole halfway to the water, but sprinting down the path just right to dodge the tricky spots became second nature in mere days; a type of muscle memory, like fingers on piano keys or the dance of Rowan’s smile to the song of Erik’s laugh. The dock seemed to be empty always and was surrounded by honeysuckle in the height of summer. It was a safe haven, a place for secrets shared and memories made.

They spent nearly the entire summer at the lake, and even though the calendar was fast approaching late September, the sun still hung heavy in the sky by the time school let out and the water stayed warm well into the night, so Rowan saw no real reason for the ritual to cease.

They stretched out beneath the heady five o’clock sun, touching at shoulders kissed with leftover tans and dotted with freckles. The rough wood scraped Rowan’s spine every time he shifted, but he couldn’t bring himself to fear splinters. With Erik next to him, Rowan had found he was hard-pressed to fear anything at all.

He peeked one eye open. Erik was in faded green swim trunks that sank dangerously low on his narrow hips. The double-knotted ties weren’t quite enough to keep up shorts too big for his frame.

Erik threw an arm up over his face. “It’s hot,” he complained. The refrain was an endless one. Rowan was sure he’d heard it a million times over a hundred different days.

“You say that every day,” Rowan mused, “and yet, it’s always your idea to come.”

“The water’s not hot,” Erik explained slowly, as though talking to a particularly dense child. Rowan rolled over and thumped him between two ribs. Erik only grinned, unrepentant. “Let’s get in.”

He was tempted to give him anything he asked when he smiled like that, Rowan thought, but he was comfortable, and the damp, chafing walk home was never as fun as the original getting wet was. _“You_ get in.”

All around them, the bugs and frogs began their daily symphony, a discordant serenade of chirps and croaks. Erik narrowed his eyes before sitting up. Rowan let his own fall closed and lounged in the lingering heat like a cat in a sunbeam.

His basking proved to be short-lived. Rowan gasped when a splash of water soaked his belly, ice cold against hot skin. His eyes popped open to find Erik standing over him. He had a foot planted on either side of Rowan’s legs, dripping hands, and an entirely too smug expression. The sun lent him a deceptive halo.

Rowan stared up at him, his jaw hanging open. One of Erik’s eyebrows ticked upward in perfect time with the corner of his mouth, a clear challenge. “You-”

Erik spun around and ran down the dock as Rowan scrambled to his feet. Erik was faster even without a head start, but Rowan was more determined. As they neared the end Rowan ducked his head and dove, throwing his arms around Erik’s waist just as he jumped.

His ankle hit the edge of the dock in the seconds before the two of them hit the water, but no battle was ever won without casualties, Rowan knew. He could take bruises alongside his victories.

Hands grappled over skin as bubbles spilled from mouths. Their feet kicked at each other, then upwards when the need for air became pressing. When Rowan broke the surface, Erik was already laughing. Rowan’s smile spread. Erik’s toes batted against his shins as they tread water, and Rowan’s grip on him slipped; one hand fell to Erik’s hip, the other coming up to grasp his shoulder. Erik grinned at him, a wild, breathless thing. Sopping blue hair fell into his face and water drops clung to his eyelashes. He could only be a person made up of all the things the sky held sacred, Rowan thought. He had sunlight under his skin and stardust in his eyes, and he was so, _so beautiful._

Rowan’s breath stuttered in his chest and stopped, for a second. His heartbeat tripped, only to pick up tempo, fast and dissonant.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

Before he could puzzle over it or even reclaim his breath, Erik shoved a hand into his hair and pushed his head under water.

Even with water in his nose, even with the involuntary realization and the deeply buried questions it stirred, Rowan would remember it as the last day he was truly, wildly happy, and the last time he was out of the cage.

* * *

* * *

 

The town blurred past his window faster than he’d like, and at once, Erik remembered the dread he felt when he’d first arrived in Cobblestone. He’d thought he’d landed squarely in the middle of nowhere, all it took was a two-hour drive away from the only family he had left and suddenly he was in hell. He might have been forced into a new house, but it would never be a home.

That’s what he’d told himself, in the beginning.

At the end, they drove past Stillwater Way, where he knew at the end of the tree-lined road sat a little house with a front porch, the house with a shed that had a clear view of the sky on a cloudless night. He let out a long breath through his nose. It came out in an odd whistling noise.

“It’s a nice place we’re going, hon. You’ll see.” Carla the Social Worker had far too much perfume on. She probably thought she smelled like springtime, when in reality the inside of the car reeked; Erik imagined it would be a similar fate to spray bathroom air freshener straight up his nose. Half of him hoped the noxious gas would overtake the oxygen in the car and suffocate him.

She also talked too much, and said the wrong things. At least Pam knew when to leave him alone. He wondered how much deeper he could wedge himself into the crevice between the car door and the tattered leather seat.

“It’s a good school system, the other kids are closer to your age...it’ll be a better fit, we think.”

Erik glared at her in the rearview. He wanted to argue, to tell her she didn’t have to lie - he knew why he was being moved, and it had nothing to do with _finding a good fit._ He wanted to scream too, but both options involved engaging with her. He tuned her out and pressed his face to the window instead, watching the houses whip by.

The General Store was coming up on the right.

He completely forgot his resolve for silence. “Wait,” Erik said, his voice hoarse. Just barely, he could see him through the unkempt grass and the honeysuckle bushes. The boy at the end of the dock, feet hanging towards the water, waiting.

Waiting for _him._

“Wait,” Erik repeated, louder and more insistent. “You have to stop, just for a second-”

Carla sighed. “Hon, you know we can’t.”

 _“Please,”_ Erik begged, his voice cracking as he wrapped his hands around the seat in front of him. “Please, let me-”

His words died away as they rolled past the store, the lake, the dock.

_Rowan._

Erik slapped a hand against the glass window. He didn’t want to say goodbye, but something had to be better than nothing. _Anything_ had to be better than disappearing, there one day, gone the next. Now, he’d be little more than a ghost.

He smacked the window again, and a third time for good measure, his chest heaving as something inside broke apart.

Up front, Carla let out a low, heavy breath. “Erik,” she said, his name an admonishment and apology both, and it was enough to splinter him completely.

The fragile strings holding him up gave and snapped. Erik sagged forward, his forehead meeting warm glass. He let his eyes fall shut, not wanting to watch the _Welcome to Cobblestone_ sign fly by. He wondered if any place would ever again feel as much like home as the one he was forced to leave behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're off. I promise the fake dating aspect shows up soon. Let me know what you think! It's good to be back!


	2. Adagio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so when I said this story might be a little slower on the update than Dream, I totally did not mean a whole month. So sorry I suck. BUT here's the next part, better late than never, right? Hopefully so. Thank you to everyone who commented and kudos'd for the prologue and I hope you enjoy!! :)

* * *

 

_ Adagio: performed in a slow tempo _

* * *

 

_(Five Years Later)_  
  


[SATURDAY]

 

Eight days.

Erik let his keys drop to the floor with a clatter and planted a foot on the door behind him, kicking it closed before collapsing against it with a weary but relieved sigh. He had eight empty days stretched out before him: no work, no classes, no expectations. 

A grin stretched his mouth, He was going to do absolutely nothing for eight days straight, holidays be damned.

He wiggled out of his boots in a manner he’d regret later, when he’d have to unlace and unzip to shove them back on his feet. He left them haphazardly in the hall without a thought for it. He shed his jacket from his shoulders and abandoned it where it fell. “Rowan? Get a fucking drink, my man, because we are celebrating…” he trailed off, frowning when he realized the house was eerily silent. 

No tinkling piano. No heavy artillery fire from the television speakers. He didn’t even hear the telltale groaning pipes to indicate water running somewhere in the house.

He walked into the living room and past the TV. Overwatch was left muted on the main screen, with an angry red message indicating the player had been kicked from the match for inactivity. The controller had been tossed to one side of the couch. Rowan’s shoes were placed neatly underneath the coffee table, out of the way. A glance over his shoulder told him the kitchen was dark and unoccupied, as was the hall leading to their bedrooms. There were no other signs of life to be seen.

Erik spun around, his eyebrows furrowing. “Rowan?” he called out again, stepping around the couch before he finally caught sight of him, on the opposite side of the glass door. 

Rowan sat with his back to him in a plastic patio chair. One hand held his phone up to his ear, the other raked through his hair, over and over. After a moment he dropped the phone onto his lap and let his head hang back over the chair, his palms sliding across his face.

Not a pleasant conversation, then. 

Erik retreated into the kitchen. He hit the lights and paused long enough to study the new flyer on the fridge - an announcement for the recital Rowan would be participating in with his students, two weeks out - before searching through the fridge and coming up with the last can of beer, one of the gross varieties Rowan preferred. Erik marched back up to the patio door and rapped on it with his knuckles. 

Rowan spun around, startled, before relaxing and offering him a tired smile. Erik slid the door open and stepped outside. He turned a chair around next to his friend before sinking into it and offering him the drink.

He accepted it with a murmured thanks before popping the tab. “I thought you were supposed to be home at three,” Rowan commented. He took a long pull, his throat bobbing with the effort, and passed the can back to Erik’s hand.

Erik leaned back in the chair and took a sip of his own, making a disgusted face at the taste of it. “Tracking me now, are you? Disappointed I didn’t have dinner on the table when you got home?”

Rowan’s smile stretched to his eyes, then. “Would have been nice, sure.” He shook his head. “I’m just going off what  _ you  _ told me. I thought you only worked at the shop today.” 

“I did that, too,” Erik admitted, “but Lexi needed a shift covered at the bar, so we switched and now I’m free and clear all next week. Here-” he shifted in his seat, fishing through his pockets before offering Rowan two weathered trading cards and an ancient looking compass that was, inexplicably, missing its needle.

“Today’s plunder, I see,” Rowan deadpanned, his lips twitching. “Are those Pokemon cards?” 

“Not just any. One’s a holographic Charizard,” Erik informed him, beaming with pride.

Rowan laughed. “One of these days, you’re going to get in trouble.” 

“Please,” Erik scoffed. “Everyone who works there takes stuff home. It’s one of the only pros of working in that junk heap.”

“Bringing home more trash is a pro in your book?”

“Hey, someone’s in a mood. Normally you love checking out my trash,” Erik said, before passing the can back to Rowan.

He let out a sigh heavy enough to shake the house before tipping his head back to face the night sky. “That was Mom, on the phone,” he explained. “She’s all worked up because Gemma is going to be home for Thanksgiving for the first time in years, and she spent forty-seven minutes going on about how this is our big chance to see each other again after all these years and reunite, or something. Now she’s invited Gemma to Rab’s party - not to mention the fact that he still thinks Jade and I are made for each other, which I can’t even begin to figure out -” 

“Hold on,” Erik held up a hand. “Have you not told them?” 

“Told them what?” Rowan grumbled. His mouth came to rest against the beer can, in the exact spot where Erik’s lips had just been.

Erik violently pushed that observation away. “That you’re gay. That you bat for the other team, that Gemma and Jade have got a ‘V’ where you’d rather see a-”

“Any amount of money in the world if you’ll stop,” Rowan interrupted. The look he shot Erik’s way would have sent a lesser man running, but Erik could see the way Rowan was fighting laughter and grinned.

After a second, Rowan sighed. “I mean, I might have told them once. In passing. Or maybe not.”

“Jesus, Rowan.”

He groaned, his expression shifting into one a lot more miserable. “I know, okay? But the first time Mom asked if I was seeing anyone after I moved here and I told her I’d been dating this guy, I don’t know, I could tell she thought it was a phase or something. She’s still got her heart set on the idea that I’m going to marry Gemma and move back home, and live happily ever after with two point five kids and a minivan, or some shit.” 

Erik leaned back, balancing on two chair legs. Rowan’s hand shot out to steady him. “How do you have half a child? Everyone always says that,” Erik mused, “two point five kids, I don’t understand-”

“The point is over here,” Rowan said dryly, holding up one finger. “You’ve walked right past it and back into the house.”

“Ha. You know, I always wondered why you hated going home for Thanksgiving,” Erik said. He dropped his chair back onto the ground and reached out to snag the beer can from Rowan. “But this explains a lot.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair before dropping his head into his hands with a grumble. 

Erik wanted to reach out, to run a hand down the line of his neck or lose his fingers in Rowan’s hair. He wanted to stroke and soothe and murmur comforting nonsense until he had him smiling again, until he could tug him in close and see what the stretch of that smile would feel like, pressed up against his own - 

His fingers tightened around the can in his hand until it made a loud crunch. He leaned forward and set it down on the concrete before straightening back up and dropping a perfunctory pat between Rowan’s shoulder blades. 

Boundary lines. Walls that towered miles high. They’d kept Erik sane for years, and only when he followed the rules to the letter.

It was why he only actively pursued women, and rarely at that. Ever since Erik realized how utterly gone he was over the sound of Rowan’s laugh or the way his heartbeat went erratic over the way a grin lit those too-serious blue gray eyes faster than the sun could rise, he knew no one else could come close. It was why he set his alarm to go off so early in the morning, to be up and out of the house by the time Rowan rolled out of bed around nine, rumple-haired and adorably grumpy - so he wouldn’t have to see too often what he was missing. It was why he stuffed his inconvenient feelings for Rowan into a box and slammed the lid decisively shut, locked it down behind swallowed keys and kept it shoved firmly out of sight. 

Some days, it even worked.

Rowan was his best friend. His  _ home. _ And for the boy who’d spent his childhood bouncing from foster care to children’s shelter and back again, for the boy who’d tried to keep a vice grip on his little sister only to watch her be adopted out at eleven while he was left alone, well. Home had never been an easy thing to find, or to keep. 

But he had one now, and damn if he was going to let something as stupid as a schoolboy's crush on his best friend ruin it. 

Rowan sat back up and scrubbed his palms over his face before looking over and meeting Erik’s gaze between his fingers, something pleading in his eyes. 

His heart slammed itself against the cage of his ribs without a thought for bruises. 

_ It’s more than that, _ that deep, horribly honest voice whispered, _ and you know it. _

Erik did know it. He’d walk through fire for the boy beside him. He’d take any number of bullets. He would do anything he needed, _ anything, _ with a smile to boot.

It was only a matter of time, really, until it came around to bite him in the ass. 

Erik let his hand fall away. “So, what are you going to do?”

Rowan sighed. “Go, I guess. Hide in my old bedroom a lot. Avoid all of them for the week and hope for the best??

“Pathetic,” Erik told him. 

Rowan nodded forlornly. 

Erik wasn’t sure what did it. Maybe it was the dejected slope of Rowan’s shoulders. Perhaps it was the distinctly broken look that always came to Rowan’s eyes whenever he thought about returning to his hometown, when he thought about whatever it was that drove him out four years prior. Maybe it was simply the ever-present, maddening need to see him smiling. 

Whatever the cause, Erik’s next words were out of his mouth before he even realized he’d  _ thought  _ them, let alone before he stood a chance at stopping them. 

“You know, I could go with you.”

In the chair beside him, Rowan went very still. “What?”

“I could go with you,” he repeated, ignoring the alarm bells even as they sounded at full volume.  _ Bad. Abort. Danger, Will Robinson. _ “You know, as proof.” 

“Proof,” Rowan echoed, as though tasting the word in his mouth. He was staring and it made the tips of Erik’s ears burn, made the back of his neck feel too hot even as a cool breeze danced through his hair. 

He forced one shoulder up into a lopsided shrug. “Yeah, I don’t know. To show your Mom you’re not into women, to fend off questions, whatever. If it would help.” 

Rowan’s eyes stayed locked on his. His eyebrows knitted together, and Erik wanted to press his thumb to the consternation lines there and smooth them away.

“Like as a date?” Rowan asked, very delicately. Every word chosen with the utmost of care. If Erik didn’t know better, he’d say it looked like Rowan might not even be breathing. “As in, you’d go as my boyfriend?”

_ Boyfriend. _

The word sent a shiver down Erik’s spine - whether it was from desperate want, absolute terror, or a mere overreaction to the weather, he couldn’t be sure. His mouth felt dry, and he wished he hadn’t mutilated the beer can. “Uh, I guess, yeah. I could pretend to be your boyfriend and everyone would leave you alone.” 

Rowan’s gaze dropped to the floor and stayed there. Erik could practically see the wheels turning in his head - Rowan’s knee started to bob up and down. He was chewing on his lower lip again, leaving indentations in the soft pink skin there. 

“But you don’t...you don’t really date guys,” Rowan said. He seemed fascinated by the cracks in the patio.

_ Boundary lines. _

“I never said that,” Erik said slowly, even as he kicked himself for breaking a rule. 

“I always see you with women!” Rowan argued. He looked incredulous, eyes blown wide. “You-”

_ Because no other man could ever stand a chance of measuring up to you. _

“Does it matter?” Erik cut in, his voice a little too sharp. 

“It absolutely does-” Rowan stopped. He flushed a magnificent shade of scarlet and cleared his throat. “-not. It doesn’t, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He fell abruptly silent.

For the first time in Rowan’s company, Erik felt almost awkward in the hush that followed. 

“It was just an offer,” Erik said after a moment, feeling foolish. He glared down at his sock feet. “I just figured-”

“No,” Rowan said quietly. He picked at a hole in the knee of his well-worn plaid pjs. “No, I appreciate the offer, but - I mean, are you sure? Going all the way back home with me to Thanksgiving dinner? You haven’t been back since-” he broke off and swallowed. “Pretending we’re together for four days, that’s...that’s a lot,” he finished lamely. “That’s a lot.”

“It wouldn’t be a big deal,” Erik shrugged. It might have been the biggest lie he’d ever told Rowan.

“Yeah, I guess not.” Rowan sounded almost... _ crestfallen. _ Before Erik could puzzle over it, Rowan jumped to his feet, his phone clutched in his tight grip. “I’ll, uh. Order pizza. Okay?”

Erik turned to watch Rowan beat a hasty retreat towards the sliding glass door. “Get a bigger one! You ate nearly all of it last time!”

When the only response he received was the sound of the door slamming back into place, Erik sighed and turned to face the pool. He studied the moon’s reflection in the water without really seeing it.   
It would be fine. He could handle four days of hand-holding and charming Rowan’s mother. He’d get through that just fine.

_ Just fine. _

Maybe if he repeated it often enough, it would prove to be the truth. 

 

* * *

 

**Rowan:** help

Red alert

HELP

**Jade:** What is wrong with you? Are you dying?

**Rowan:** on the inside, possibly

**Jade:** I figured as much. What happened?

**Rowan:** two questions first

are you taking Hendrik to tgiving

**Jade:** why would I subject him to that?

It's way too early for him to see that level of insanity.

**Rowan:** god you’re just making it worse

**Jade:** Explain?

**Rowan:** hold on a sec, very important question

Did you knOW ERIK IS BI

**Jade:** Seriously? Everyone knows that.

...I’m horrified that you didn’t know that?

How could you NOT know that? He’s your best friend, you live together, what the hell?

**Rowan:** GOD I don’t know, he’s never explicitly stated it

It’s not the sort of thing you just ask

I mean I used to wonder if he might be but then he never...IDK

I guess I just thought he wasn’t

**Jade:** how has that conversation not come up once in what 4 years?

**Rowan:** i don’t know we don’t just sit around chatting about our sexual preferences. How did you know? Did he tell you?

**Jade:** Well, no

**Rowan:** then how is it just common knowledge? I’ve never seen him look at a guy that way

**Jade:** …

I have

**Rowan:** ??

fine, keep your secrets

**Jade:** So is this why you’re having an aneurysm at 11pm, or

**Rowan:** no

Well, kind of

Anyway, mom invited gemma to tgiving dinner

**Jade:** THE Gemma??

**Rowan:** and rab’s always trying to get us to smooch

**Jade:** Gross, continue

**Rowan:** so I was complaining about it and Erik offered to go

as some sort of fake boyfriend, just like that

to prove that boobs just don’t do it for me I guess

because this is apparently what I have to resort to

?!?!?1?

please say something 

**Jade:** Hmm.

**Rowan:** more than that?

**Jade:** This was Erik’s idea?

**Rowan:** yeah

**Jade:** Wow.

**Rowan:** right? It’s crazy

**Jade:** It’s definitely crazy.

**Rowan:** but it might work

**Jade:** Oh. Oh, no

**Rowan:** I mean

Mom and rab would get the picture

I wouldn’t have to outright hurt gemma or mom’s feelings

and I get to see what it might be like

**Jade:** Yeah, see this is where it starts to get BAD.

**Rowan:** it might be nice, you know. To just be his boyfriend for a bit

**Jade:** Rowan, no.

Monumentally bad idea

**Rowan:** well it’s not like I’m ever gonna get to be with him for real.

If this is as close as we can get, I can probably live with that

**Jade:** Rowan, sweetheart. I’m begging you to think about this.

If you do this and Erik is your fake boyfriend for Thanksgiving, how are you ever going to go back to just being his friend? To JUST being his roommate?

**Rowan:** I can handle it. It’ll be fine

**Jade:** I can promise you that it will not be fine, this kind of thing always turns out awful. Why do you think there are so many movies, huh?

**Rowan:** it usually turns out okay in the movies though?

**Jade:** :/

**Rowan:** I think i’ve got this under control. Erik’s waiting for me to order food so I gotta go

thanks for helping

**Jade:** Just for the record, I said this was a bad idea.

And I stand by that.

 

* * *

* * *

 

[SUNDAY]

 

It felt good outside for a November morning. Warm enough, with just the edge of a chill on the breeze that flowed in off the sea. Erik stationed himself bright and early in his usual corner right outside the cafe, feet propped up on the metal bistro table. His third coffee was half-empty by his ankle, and an ancient laptop whirred against his legs as it protested being alive. He picked idly at the spot where an ‘F’ key should be and decided, not for the first time, that he really ought to buy a new one. 

He had enough saved, but the habit to hoard his pennies was one that died hard or not at all. And, as he liked to remind Rowan, it did still  _ work.  _

As if in objection to the thought, the screen froze. Erik sighed, closed the laptop, and shoved it into his backpack. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of a hoodie he’d shamelessly stolen from Rowan’s clean laundry and tipped his head back to face the sun. 

Within minutes, his feet were promptly shoved off the table. 

“I swear, your manners get more and more non-existent with each passing day,” Veronica said as she settled into the chair across from him.

“Can something get more non-existent? Are there degrees to that sort of thing?” Erik mused, reaching out to steady his wobbling cup. As Serena took the chair at his left, he passed her preferred latte over the table. 

“What, nothing for me?” Veronica demanded. 

“You never ask nicely.”

“Serena never has to ask. You’re just nice to her.”

Erik shrugged. “She  _ was  _ my girlfriend for a week and a half,” he pointed out, “and besides,  _ Serena  _ is not hard to be nice to.” 

Veronica flipped him the finger. Serena lifted her mug to her mouth, hiding a smile behind the rim. 

“First of all, that was rude,” Erik started, even as he moved a standing menu to reveal Veronica’s hidden styrofoam cup of tea.

She waved a hand in dismissal as she reached across the surface to snag the drink he very decisively did not pass over. “And second?”

Erik raised an eyebrow, taking a swig of his own coffee.

Veronica rolled her eyes. “You started off with first of all, which implies that something else will, in fact, follow. So what prompted you to demand we show up here, far too early on this sacred day of rest?” 

“It’s ten,” Erik argued. 

“My point exactly. Now hand over the goods.”

Erik scoffed before fishing through his pockets. “Greedy. Here,” he tossed a thin, golden colored bangle dotted with multicolored crystals over the table top. Veronica snatched it up, giddy, and shoved it onto an already crowded wrist. “It’s not worth shit, so don’t get excited.”

Veronica pointed at him. “Talk.”

Wordlessly, he handed Serena a pair of bright purple, cat-eyed sunglasses. She donned them instantly with a radiant grin. 

When Veronica’s foot made contact with his shin under the table, he scowled at her before heaving a sigh. “I might have done something stupid.”

“How’s that different from any other day of the week?”

“Veronica,” Serena scolded, lips turning down into a frown over her mug.

“Would you just-” Erik huffed. “I might have said I’d go back to Cobblestone with Rowan for Thanksgiving.”

Veronica’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, shit.”

“That’s not even the worst part,” Erik grumbled.

“Spit it out, then.”

“Uh, I told Rowan I’d pretend to be dating him to get his mom to lay off.”

Veronica spat out a mouthful of tea.

“Oh, Erik,” Serena murmured passing her twin a stack of napkins before sighing. “You didn’t.”

_ “What?!” _ Veronica demanded, pausing only to dab at her mouth. “God, why? Were you drunk?”

Erik dropped his head onto the table with a loud thump and a groan.

“You are an idiot,” Veronica decided. “This might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done,  _ ever.” _

“Not helping,” Erik grumbled.

“But why?” Serena asked, letting her hand fall onto the back of his neck. “Was it your idea, or Rowan’s?”

He turned his head enough to face her, his cheek pressing into the table. It felt cool against his skin. “He was complaining about how his mom keeps trying to marry him off to this girl he grew up with and he just looked so miserable about it, I don’t know. It just happened.”

“Please,” Veronica scoffed. “That kind of thing doesn’t  _ just happen. _ Normal, sane people don’t  _ just happen _ to offer themselves up as decoy boyfriends to the person they’re stupid in love with. This is going to be a disaster, you know that, right?” She tilted her head to one side, a hand coming up to her chin. “On second thought, can I come and watch?”  

“Shut up,” Erik shot her a baleful glare. “It won’t be that bad.”

Veronica threw her head back and laughed. “You keep telling yourself that. Let me know how it works out for you.”

Serena gave him a gentle pet. “Maybe it won’t be so awful. It might not even be so different - you already spend all your time together as it is, right?”

“They’re only the fun stuff short of marriage, is what you’re saying,” Veronica cut in, looking far too pleased with herself. “All of the work with none of the benefits. You think you’re going to be able to keep your hands to yourself all week?”

Erik sighed. He looked up and down the empty street, wondering what he could use to end his life in the most quick and efficient manner if a car didn’t come along soon.

“I can’t wait to tease Rowan about this,” Veronica said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “What a -hey!” She snapped as Erik plucked her phone out of her hand.

“Don’t do that,” Erik warned, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t you...don’t you scare him off, or something.”

Veronica snatched her phone back, her expression shifting to one of blatant suspicion. “You  _ want  _ to do this, don’t you? Masochist.” 

“I’m just trying to help him,” Erik protested.  

“You are a liar, Erik. A  _ liar.” _

Maybe he was.

* * *

 

**Rowan:** are you with Veronica and Serena

**Erik:** Yeah

**Rowan:** then figure out why V sent me a link to some wedding shit on pinterest? help? 

**Erik:** god I’m gonna kill her

just spam her with pikachu memes and tell her to fuck off

That’s what I do

**Rowan:** when are you coming home?

**Erik:** why, miss me?

no, that’s not it

You just want food don’t you?

**Rowan:** …:)

**Erik:** bastard

Wtf do you want

**Rowan:** whatevers easiest

**Erik:** fine

I’ll be back in thirty, your highness

**Rowan:** thanks man I’ll pay you back

**Erik:** nah let a fake boyfriend take care of his fake boyfriend

**Rowan:** …yeah I’m gonna pay you back

**Erik:** so stubborn

* * *

 

Erik dropped the grease-laden bag of Five Guys onto the counter before wandering into the living room. The piano was still uncovered, the stand bursting with sheet music - clear evidence of Rowan’s activities in his absence. Erik leaned in to see the title and frowned. Beethoven’s Sonata No. 14 was well-worn and coffee stained, and one he knew all too well.

He carried on down the hall to Rowan’s half-opened door. “I’m back, not that you care. You only want me around to bring you food.”

“Not true,” Rowan’s muffled shout came from the bathroom. Erik heard the shower turn off. He leaned against the door frame as Rowan continued, “Sometimes you bring me drinks, too.”

“You’re an ass,” Erik called back, though not without affection. When Rowan finally emerged, he was stripped to the waist and had his damp hair pulled back, tied in the ridiculous knot that forced Erik to wrestle with the urge to pull it free and nibble on his neck. A bead of water trailed down over Rowan’s collarbone and Erik drew in a breath and cast his gaze anywhere else - the wall, the carpet, even his own face in a photo of the two of them, staring back in a way that made him feel thoroughly judged. 

“So,” Rowan began as he walked towards his closet. When he turned his back, Erik let his eyes wander over the expanse of Rowan’s shoulders, the graceful curve of his spine, and lower still. “Should we have guidelines, or something?” 

“Guidelines?” Erik echoed faintly.

Rowan’s head vanished into the neck of a t-shirt. When he reappeared and turned around, he pulled the hem down over his stomach and Erik could look him in the eye once more.

It was safer when Rowan had a great deal less skin on display.

Rowan flopped down onto his bed. His cheeks looked a little pink. “You know. For the, uh. Thing we talked about yesterday. The Thanksgiving thing,” Rowan gestured absently with his hands. “The pretending to be a  _ thing _ thing.” 

“That’s way too many things,” Erik argued. “Be more specific.” 

Rowan groaned and dropped his face into the blanket. Erik fought back against a smirk.

“You know what I mean,” Rowan protested. When he lifted his head, he looked like he’d traveled headlong past distressed and was careening towards panic. It tugged at Erik’s heart.

He’d only meant to help, not give him more to worry over. 

“Hey, okay. Is  _ this  _ why you’re stress-playing Moonlight Sonata?” 

Rowan offered a guilty look. “Well, at first I was practicing my piece for the recital -”

Erik’s mouth twitched. “Right, of course. Guidelines. Let’s do it. Like what?”

Rowan opened his mouth, said nothing, and frowned. He clearly hadn’t made it quite that far. “Well...what’s our backstory?” 

“Your mom knows me. She knows we met in high school,” Erik pointed out.

“Okay, yeah,” Rowan agreed, “but when did we start dating? We live together, what do we tell her about that? Or do we tell her nothing and let her come to her own conclusions? I’m not good at lying, I don’t know how to do _ this-”  _

As Rowan’s words came faster and far more frantic, Erik crossed the room and dropped a knee onto the edge of the bed. “Hey, take a breath, would you?” He placed a hand on Rowan’s back and could feel the warmth of him through the cotton. He smelled like Old Spice and the peppermint shampoo he favored, from the bottle that sat on the middle shelf of the shower they shared.

“Sorry,” Rowan mumbled.

“You tell her whatever you want to,” Erik said. “Whatever feels right, and I’ll go along with it, okay? And as for this-” Erik resisted the urge to stroke, and lightly yanked on a stray lock of Rowan’s hair instead. “It’s just you and me. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Rowan was watching him, biting down on his lower lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Erik told him, firm and sure. “As for the rest, why don’t we just wing it?”

“I’m not really good at wing it,” Rowan said, even as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“We’ll work on it. Now go on, get out. Your fries are getting cold.”

Rowan scrambled from the bed and nearly tripped over a shoe before disappearing from the room. Erik laughed and followed him out, smiling slightly to himself as he glanced over at the picture frame once more. The pair of them grinned back, frozen in time. Immortalized.

They’d be just fine, when all this was over.

* * *

* * *

 

 

[MONDAY]

 

**Jade:** Drinks at Viking, 9? Hendrik and Sylvando will be there too

**Rowan:** Sure, we’ll see you then

**Jade:** Already using the royal we, I see.

**Rowan:** listen I’m already getting shit from Veronica I don’t need it from you too

**Jade:** Prepare yourself, then. You know Sylv’s going to have a field day.

**Rowan:** you know, on second thought maybe I should just stay home and finish packing?

**Jade:** Oh, don’t be a baby. It’ll be fun.

**Rowan:** I’m gonna regret this I just know it.

* * *

 

The Golden Viking was tucked away behind a gas station and the back of a Walmart. It was more than a few blocks from the water and, as such, was exactly the sort of dark hole in the wall pub that tourists avoided and locals flocked to. On a Monday night, only the truly disillusioned - haggard dockworkers and frazzled students alike - took up stools along the well-worn bar top. 

They’d only been waiting for about three minutes but the way Jade kept side-eyeing him, silent and watchful, made him itchy.

“If you’ve got something to say,” Rowan sighed, put-upon, “just go ahead and say it.”

Jade pursed her lips. “I just hope you’ve thought this through is all.”

Rowan drummed his fingers on the bartop and cast a glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t see Erik from where he stood, but Hendrik would be easy enough to spot from outer space. The two of them and Sylvando had successfully claimed a booth in the far corner. 

Rowan turned back to face Jade. “Trust me, I lost plenty of sleep this weekend just for thinking it through. But I already got him a plane ticket, so I guess it’s happening.”

Jade was already shaking her head. “Rowan…”

“What do you think it means,” he interrupted, stopping whatever track she’d started down, “that he never told me he’s interested in men, too? I just...I know he doesn’t  _ have  _ to tell me, of course. But he can’t have been worried I’d take it badly, right? Or maybe...I just don’t understand.”

Jade looked away, taking a sudden interest in the bottles that lined the shelves on the wall behind the bar. “I don’t know,” she said finally, sounding tired. “Maybe it means something, or maybe not. But either way, I don’t know that it matters. You should go into this week with very low expectations.” 

Rowan shot her a dry look. “I get it, okay? It’s not like...like I think he’s just going to fall in love with me the second we hit Cobblestone, just because I know he’s bisexual now. I know it doesn’t change anything, not really. He doesn’t...I  _ know.” _

Jade made a face, her nose wrinkling.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “And what was _ that?” _

She took a deep breath, looking every bit like she’d rather disappear into the meager crowd and find a table to hide under than continue the conversation at hand. “Rowan, I think he  _ does  _ have feelings for you,” she started, frowning at him when he nearly snapped his neck to whip around and stare at her. “But something has obviously kept him from doing anything about it, even though he might know that he could. So, maybe when you get back you should consider…” she trailed off, hesitating.

Rowan covered her hand with his own, his brow furrowing. “What? Just tell me.”

“Moving on? Maybe trying to meet someone else?” Jade suggested, her voice gentle. “You spend all your time alone in that house with him, I just don’t see how it’s possible to ever get over it.”

He dropped his gaze to the bar as their large drink order was placed down in front of them. “Thanks,” he mumbled to the bartender, a blonde girl he’d seen flirting with Erik on more than one occasion. He avoided Jade’s eye, not feeling too keen on the pity he saw there. “You know, you’re not the first one to tell me that. But I know nothing’s going to happen. If it was, I don’t know, it would’ve already, right? But I’m okay. I’m  _ happy. _ I don’t see -” Rowan raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t get what’s so wrong with loving him, just because he doesn’t love me the exact same way. He still...he’s worth it,” he said roughly, before snagging a shot glass off the tray and tossing it back. He screwed his eyes shut at the burn. “He’s worth loving, even if nothing more than what we already have ever comes from it.”

When he mustered the courage to sneak a glance back at Jade, her expression was soft and sad as she helped gather their friend’s drinks. “You’ve got such a big heart, Rowan. I just don’t want to see it broken, that’s all.” 

_ He could, _ Rowan thought, as Jade turned and slipped through the bar to rejoin the others. Erik could break his heart into bits and destroy the pieces, and Rowan would let him. He’d already done it once before, after all. 

He shook his head to clear the thought away and followed her. Rowan pushed his way through a group of people, taking care to keep the drinks in his hands from sloshing over the rims of their glasses. Once he reached his friends, he set Erik’s drink down in front of him before sliding into the booth at his side.

Erik nudged his shoulder with his own in a silent thanks. Rowan shuffled in closer as a particularly rowdy group of students bustled past them. When Erik lifted his glass to his mouth, their arms brushed. Rowan glanced at him, then away, something uneasy skittering down his spine. He looked up in time to catch Sylvando watching their every move, an unerringly sly curve to his smile. 

“Preparing for the big show already, are we?”

Rowan felt his face flush. He wondered why the bar felt hotter than it normally did, and tugged at his collar. “What? No.” 

“I have to say, if you are going to convince  _ anyone  _ that the two of you are together, you’ll have to try a bit harder than that,” Sylvando continued, his eyebrows doing a ridiculous dance. “Have you practiced your kissing?” 

Erik lifted his gaze from his phone to glare at Sylvando. “Have we  _ what?” _ he demanded.

“Sylvando…” Jade started, a warning in her tone. Hendrik only sighed into his whiskey. 

Sylvando’s grin spread. He waved Jade’s words away, his eyes on Erik. “Practice, darling. Not only does it make perfect, but I promise you this - kissing for the first time in a room full of people when you’re trying to make them believe you do it all the time? Well,” he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Without practice, it’ll be a short-lived charade, I think.” 

Rowan frowned down at the amber liquid in his glass. “We’ll be fine,” he insisted, before taking a hearty sip. He was beginning to think he’d need another, just to make it through the evening’s inquisition.

Sylvando scoffed. “Oh, don’t be shy. What’s a tiny little kiss between good friends, hmm?”

“Maybe he’s right,” Erik said.

Rowan choked on his drink. “I’m sorry, what?”

Erik wouldn’t look at him. “Maybe we  _ should  _ practice. Or get the first one out of the way, at least.” 

_ Out of the way.  _ As though a kiss between the two of them was akin to that of an unpleasant appointment or an unwelcome house guest, and not what hounded Rowan’s sleep and haunted his dreams.

Rowan set his drink down and splayed his hands out flat on the table top. He took a deep breath and when he looked up, he managed to catch Jade’s eye. She gave her head an infinitesimal shake. Rowan widened his eyes, and there must have been enough desperation in his gaze because after a beat she sighed loudly and stood up. “Let’s go get another round, shall we?” 

Sylvando was smirking even as he slid out of the booth behind her. At the head of the table, folded into a chair too small for his frame, Hendrik didn’t move.

When he realized Jade was staring at him expectantly, he blinked, confounded. “I’ve not finished the one I have,” he pointed out, more a question than a statement. 

“Well I can’t carry all of them by myself, can I?” Jade countered. She brushed a stray strand of his hair away from his face, and Rowan felt a pang of envy so potent it stole his breath.

To be able to show affection so freely must have been a wondrous thing.

“Come on, Sergeant. On your feet,” Jade was teasing. Hendrik obeyed, slipping his hand into hers as they went, following in Sylvando’s wake.

Rowan waited until they were well out of earshot before rounding on Erik. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

Erik raised an eyebrow. “What? I just think it might not be a bad idea, that’s all. Why are you freaking out?”

As if on cue, Rowan had to drop a hand onto his knee to stop it from bouncing. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Erik argued. “You’ve got that line going, right here,” he pointed at the wrinkle carving its way across Rowan’s forehead, his fingertip just shy of touching. “You’re practically shaking the entire table. So what is it? Does the idea of kissing me stress you out that much?”

There was a discernible edge cutting into the last of Erik’s words. Rowan frowned. “No, I...no,” he stammered. “It doesn’t.” 

“Then come here,” Erik reasoned, sliding closer. His mouth curved up into the slightest hint of a smirk. “Why not?”

Erik lost his filter when he drank, Rowan knew. Some of the walls came down, and this was a  _ bad idea. _ His eyes stayed glued to Erik’s lips anyway. His breaths came faster as their thighs bumped together in the booth. In truth, Erik was no closer to him than they’d been a thousand times before - watching a movie on the couch, shifting around each other in the bathroom on a busy morning, or leaning in close to talk in a loud room - but to have Erik crashing into his orbit with the idea of kissing him scrolling across Rowan’s mind like a comet blazing the sky,  _ well. _

_ Why not?  _

Rowan would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it, every single day; what Erik’s lips would feel like against his own, the way he’d taste, the sounds he’d make. He could find out. He could fall into him right now and find out.

But it would be in the middle of the bar Erik worked in, with their friends no doubt looking on from somewhere in the room.

Rowan felt like he was seconds away from leaping out of his own skin. Cheeks burning, his hands flew up to grasp Erik’s shoulders. “Wait,” he said hastily. His tongue darted out to wet dry lips, and Rowan didn’t think he imagined the way Erik’s gaze slipped downward. “Wait, not like-”

Erik looked equal parts amused and exasperated. His eyes burned. “Not like what?”

His voice was low with just a hint of gravel, and Rowan’s stomach did something truly unbearable in response. “Not like this,” he whispered. Erik’s eyebrows shot up, and Rowan’s face flamed hotter still. “Not in the bar, not with everyone... _ watching.”  _

Erik tilted his head to one side, his eyes roaming over Rowan’s face. His expression shifted to one more thoughtful. “Alright, but - you do know that’s the point of this thing, right? People will be watching when we get back to Cobblestone.”

He wasn’t wrong. Rowan bit down on his lower lip. “Okay.  _ Okay, _ fine. Just...quick, before they come back.” 

He tugged Erik forward by his shoulders. He heard Erik make a noise - whether surprise or consternation, he couldn’t guess. One of Erik’s hands dropped onto the cracked vinyl seat between them in an effort to catch himself. His nose crashed into Rowan’s in the seconds before his lips did, and it was - 

_ Weird, _ Rowan thought.  _ Definitely weird. _ He felt a bit as though he’d run headlong into a wall, even as his heart slammed in his chest. 

After nothing more than half a clumsy second of a chaste press of closed mouths, Erik jerked back. He lifted a finger to his lips and looked almost... _ disappointed. _ Rowan held his breath. 

“Fuck,” Erik grumbled. 

The tension fell out of Rowan’s shoulders at once. He threw back his head and laughed.

Erik looked appalled. “What’s funny?”

“Sylv was right,” Rowan told him, breathless as he used his hold on Erik to stay upright in his seat. “That trainwreck would have been a dead giveaway.”

Erik rubbed his nose, still disgruntled. “Yeah, well. I said we should kiss, not smash our faces together.” 

Rowan kept grinning. “Maybe next time we should just wing it,” he suggested. “Was that not your brilliant plan?”

Erik shook his head as he reached for his drink, but Rowan could see the upward slant of his mouth as he lost to a smile. 


	3. Minuet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, I'm so sorry it took me two months to get this done. Here's my list of excuses: long term illness, emotional distress, financial distress, birthdays, the list goes on. Someone just smack me. In other news, here's 15K of this dumb story, way too long to be considered one chapter but alas. Here goes nothing.

* * *

_Minuet: a slow, stately dance for two._

* * *

 

 

[TUESDAY] 

 

Erik heard footsteps entering the kitchen, a ‘Good morning’ far too cheerful for both the hour and the boy who spoke it, and somewhere, a distant hiss. It might have been either the Keurig spitting liquid gold from within or an angry cat. Considering they didn’t currently _have_ a cat, grumpy or otherwise, Erik considered his options carefully, scarcely daring to hope. 

God, his head was pounding. 

“Is that my UNC sweatshirt?” Rowan asked. There was a _thump_ on the table in front of him. Erik unearthed his face from his arms, a scathing response on the tip of his tongue. He looked up just enough to lay eyes on the bottle of aspirin and a steaming mug - the one with flowing script suggesting, in a rather rude fashion but no less true, _precisely_ what one could do with themselves until he’d had his morning coffee - and saw Rowan made it just how he liked it, black and unforgiving. 

Erik wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic, very slowly lifting his head. He’d never considered himself particularly religious, but as Rowan slid into the seat opposite his own, he wondered if it was only deities that deserved worship. “Is it? I didn’t check.”

The corner of Rowan’s mouth curved, as if in response to a joke Erik wasn’t privy to. He reached over and wrapped his fingers around Erik’s wrist, lightly turning it over. “It is. It’s got the hole right there, see?”

With his free hand, Erik lifted his mug to his lips and nearly groaned as coffee hit his tongue. He swallowed and met Rowan’s eyes. “Well,” he drawled, “unless you’d like me to strip right here, you’re not getting it back.”

Erik watched as color rose to stain Rowan’s cheeks pink. He vacated his seat and retreated to the counter to claim his own caffeine fix, and Erik grinned into his mug, unrepentant.

Boundary lines or not, he had to take his victories as they came.

“Are you ready to go?” Rowan asked. He looked as though he posed the question to the window over the sink, but Erik took it upon himself to answer.

“If by ‘ready’ you mean my bag is packed so you can drag my ass to J. Ellis, then sure,” Erik offered, taking another sip. “But if we’re talking physically, emotionally, or psychologically, then probably not.”

“Oh, good. We’re on the same page, then,” Rowan said, and Erik couldn’t help but crack a smile. 

“Remind me again why you booked a flight for 8 am and thought it was a good plan to go drink with Jade the night before?”

Rowan eyed him over the rim of his own cup, long jean-clad legs stretched out before him as he leaned against the counter. He looked entirely too awake, too put-together, too _good,_ but Erik didn’t have it within himself to hate Rowan for it. “It’s your own fault you feel like shit,” he argued, though he didn’t sound wholly unsympathetic. “You tried to keep up with Hendrik and lost.”

Erik scowled down at the tabletop. “I was challenged!”

“Yeah, by Sylv. He just wanted a show. You should know better,” Rowan scolded, “and besides, Hendrik is twice your size.”

Instead of trying to dig a retort out of the haze in his brain, Erik grumbled and shoved his palms against his eyes, scrubbing up against his brow. When he opened them again, Rowan was watching him with an oddly soft sort of smile. It was the one he often caught the faintest edges of but never the whole thing, like the rays surrounding a sunrise but never the bursting glow itself. Erik blinked and he’d turned back around, the moment gone; it might have just been a trick of the first dregs of morning light, spilling in from the window.

“Want some bacon before we go?” Rowan asked, ever benevolent. 

Erik thought again about the merits of reverence and wondered if he’d ever feel like he deserved to stand at the altar. “God, yes _please.”_

* * *

Erik was not and would never be a large guy - a fact that had brought him considerable dismay in his late teenage years - but still, the cramped airplane aisles loomed in too close. The clashing voices were too loud and the space too warm, and it all applied a hefty pressure to his chest that made him want to turn around and run, to put his feet back on solid ground. 

His fingers tightened around the strap of his backpack and he gave his head a rough shake. This was not an impossible thing, and neither was it something worthy of his fear.

_Get it together._

Rowan came to an abrupt halt in front of him. Erik crashed into his back and got a faceful of hair, but Rowan remained unfazed. “Do you want to sit by the window, or-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Erik bit out.

Rowan shot him a look over his shoulder, his head tilting to one side. After a brief study, the corners of his mouth turned down into a frown. “You okay?”

Erik let out a breath. “I’ve never...done _this,”_ he admitted, a bit disgruntled at having to say the words aloud. 

Rowan blinked. “Been on a plane?” he clarified, prompting Erik to jerk his head up and down. Rowan’s face fell. “We could have driven - okay,” he cut himself off before his tirade could truly begin and reached for Erik’s backpack, tugging it free from his shoulders. He placed his hand over Erik’s spine. “Sit by the window, then. Once we take off, you’ll like being able to look outside.” 

Erik wasn’t so sure he would, but there had been plenty of times over the years where he’d felt Rowan might just know him better than he did himself, so he relented and sagged back into the seat. Rowan stuffed their bags out of sight before dropping down beside him. Erik watched as Rowan dug through his pocket, coming up with a tangle of earbuds. He plugged them into his phone before pressing it into Erik’s hand. “Here. Listen to something.”

Erik stuffed one bud into his opposite ear, closest to the window. “No piano music.”

Rowan blinked, his expression giving way to something wounded. “I thought you liked piano,” he started, a question more than a statement.

Erik felt the tips of his ears grow warm. “I like when _you_ play,” he muttered, embarrassment losing out to the need to throw a patch over any cuts his words made. 

Rowan’s smile returned. “I don’t think they have full-size pianos in-flight. You’d probably have to go First Class for that.”

The laugh that bubbled free from his chest surprised him. He offered Rowan the second earbud and put up a valiant battle to _not_ chase after his scent when Rowan leaned in close to accept it. Erik felt little to no shame in sinking down a bit lower in his seat and pulling up his hood until he could catch the slightest whiff of peppermint that rose off the fabric.

Beneath their feet, the plane began to hum. Erik watched his own knuckles turn white on the armrest.

Rowan put his phone into airplane mode and scrolled through Spotify. “There. Arctic Monkeys.”

“That’ll work,” Erik grunted, although it wouldn’t. When the engines grew louder still, he went rigid in his seat, no amount of music enough to soothe the skittish animal beneath his skin.

Wordlessly, Rowan reached over and tapped the top of Erik’s hand with the backs of his knuckles. Erik glanced at him. Rowan opened his hand, fingers splayed wide: an offering.

Without even a thought, Erik slid his fingers into the gaps between Rowan’s and held on, a welcome lifeline.

They were meant to be practicing, after all.

And as it happened, Rowan was right. Erik did, in fact, enjoy looking out the window once they rose high enough to touch the clouds.

* * *

 

By the time the plane touched down on the ground in the land of peaches and red clay, it seemed as though they’d abruptly switched places. Throughout the hassle of retrieving bags from the overhead bin, pushing their way off the plane, and navigating the airport crowds, Rowan grew more and more visibly unsettled. In fact, Erik thought Rowan would like nothing more than to sink into the floor and slip quietly from the earth. After surreptitiously watching Rowan chew an impressive crater into his bottom lip for at least ten minutes, Erik finally spoke up.

“Breathe, would you? You’re making _me_ nervous.” He lifted a hand to Rowan’s shoulder and steered him through the throngs of people. “One of us has to be cool, otherwise this is gonna go to shit real fast.”

“I’m good,” Rowan insisted. He took a deep, gulping breath that suggested otherwise. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Erik replied, endlessly skeptical. He shifted his backpack to his other shoulder when the first started to ache. “Because you usually look like you’re staring down the barrel. My mistake.” 

“Ishouldtellyousomething,” Rowan spoke so quickly his words ran together.

Erik’s eyebrows arched. In the time it took him to decipher the not-quite-English Rowan spat in his direction, a burly man in a stupid suit knocked into his shoulder as he brushed past, hard enough to jostle him. Erik scowled after the man, despite the fact that he couldn’t be bothered even to look back and appreciate the offered hostility. “Can it wait ‘til we get to the car? This is hell.” 

“I...yeah. Sure, it can wait.”

Erik’s stomach rumbled, loudly enough that he wondered how the entire airport didn’t hear it. “Do you think we’ve got time to grab a bite? I’m starving. You didn’t feed me enough.”

He’d expected a laugh, or at the very least, an indignant snort. A smack to the shoulder, surely. When Rowan didn’t respond at all, Erik glanced his way to find Rowan’s eyes on the floor, his forehead so wrinkled that Erik worried it’d crease permanently.

Rowan let out a breath. His smile, when it appeared, was absolutely forced. Erik knew the difference as well as he knew his own face in a mirror - Rowan’s smile curved, but the corners of his eyes didn’t crinkle and the shadows didn’t leave them. His real smile, Erik knew, was brighter than the sun breaking through the clouds. 

Rowan started talking again, rapidly listing off fast food stops from the airport to Cobblestone, but Erik barely heard him. He looked down, distracted by the way Rowan tapped his fingers over his thigh, as though he played invisible keys beneath his hand. “-or Zaxbys, but they’re usually slow. What do you-” Rowan broke off when Erik, slowly but purposefully, wrapped his smallest finger around Rowan’s and held on.

“It’ll be okay, you know?” Erik offered, feeling his face heat up a little when Rowan stared at him. “I’ve got your back.”

Like a dam breaking, the tension flooded free from Rowan’s shoulders. His expression softened. The faintest of smiles managed to touch his eyes, to lighten them to the color of a clear sky. “I know,” he said, low and warm. “Thank you.”

Erik threw out his free hand when they reached the door and shoved it open, leading the way out into the fresh air. It was warmer than it was back home. He wanted to shed layers, but he kept his pinkie tangled with Rowan’s, reluctant to break that connection. “What’s your mom driving these days?” he asked as he scanned the busy parking lot.

“Dark blue Toyota,” Rowan murmured, coming to a stop beside him on the sidewalk.

“Did she text you? Is she here already? I don’t see-” he stopped, words abruptly failing him as Rowan swayed into his space, something particularly determined in his eyes. Erik’s breath hitched in his chest as Rowan’s free hand came up to touch, ever so briefly, against the logo on the front of his stolen sweatshirt before he wrapped his fingers in the hood strings. Rowan’s eyes held his. When he leaned in closer still, Erik couldn’t look away. He could hardly find enough air to breathe.

Rowan’s lips fell on his, soft and sweet. The strangled sound that caught in Erik’s throat might have embarrassed him, were it anybody else. His eyes fluttered shut at the static that licked down his spine. Slowly, so slowly, Rowan’s mouth parted under his and Erik obeyed his touch without even a thought. Rowan’s fingers slid into his hair and Erik worried that his knees would fail to keep him upright.

It was not the rushed, awkward fumble from the night before; the one that’d left him both disappointed and relieved, had him wondering if maybe he’d simply overblown his attraction to Rowan in his head. He’d thought, for just a moment, that there might not be sparks between them.

No, Rowan had skipped sparks and gone straight to a wildfire, steadily and methodically burning away all that stood in his path.

With one more graze of his lips, Rowan pulled back and drew in an unsteady breath. Erik opened his eyes and met Rowan’s heavy-lidded stare. Rowan’s hand slipped from his hair and, without breaking eye contact, he dragged his thumb over Erik’s bottom lip before letting his hand fall away completely. Erik swept his tongue over his lip, unconsciously chasing the taste of his skin.

Rowan’s fingers were still wrapped up in the front of his sweatshirt. He was breathing hard, something just a bit wild in his gaze, and Erik found himself leaning back in, seeking just a little more.

It had been a kiss he could have spent hours in or lose lifetimes to. He’d give up the rest of his days, every bit of his air, for just another minute.

Maybe his self-imposed rules didn’t have to follow him here.

Someone breezed past them, loudly arguing into the phone at his ear, and whatever spell it was that befell both of them at once broke.

Rowan gave his head a violent shake and dropped his gaze to the ground. He patted Erik’s chest before releasing him altogether. Erik blinked once, twice. His eyebrows climbed towards his hair.

_What the hell was that?_

“I, um,” Rowan started, as if he’d been privy to the thought. “Thought I saw Mom.” His voice sent another shockwave through Erik - rough and wrecked.

What he wouldn’t give to hear Rowan say his name like _that._

Rowan turned around then, scanning the waiting line of cars. It was a moment before Erik trusted himself to speak, and another before he could draw in enough air to reliably form words. “Oh, yeah. I - no problem. Do you see her now, or-”

“There,” Rowan pointed, before adjusting the slipping strap on his backpack. “She’s over there.” Tentatively, he lifted his eyes back to Erik’s, something soft and just a little shy in his expression. “Ready?” 

 _Not even a little,_ Erik realized. He swallowed, willing his heart to slow to something more manageable than a sprint and for the thrumming in his blood to settle. “Sure thing,” he lied. In truth, he was only sure of one thing, abundantly clear in the beginning of a race he’d only just started.

If _that_ was a taste of what the week had in store for him, he was completely and utterly fucked. 

* * *

 

They were not off to a swell start.

Erik couldn’t remember experiencing a more uncomfortable car ride in his life. Well, that wasn’t quite right; he could remember _one,_ but it had been more world-ending on his part than it was awkward, so the two hour trip from Hartsfield-Jackson to Cobblestone still won.

He’d spent the ride jammed into the bench seat of Amber’s truck with one shoulder butted up against the window and the other shoved into Rowan’s. Erik figured he, at least, was better off - Rowan had to sit in the middle with one of his knees folded to his chin, while his other leg pressed against Erik’s from shoe to hip. The warmth radiating off Rowan’s thigh was enough to drive Erik to distraction for the duration of the ride as he tuned in and out of Rowan’s stilted conversation attempts with his shell-shocked mother.

_Happy Thanksgiving._

Now, as they dragged their backpacks up the neatly landscaped walk to the front porch, Erik’s footsteps slowed without his permission. He took it all in, feeling a weight settle in over his chest, a peculiar slipping of time. The roof they’d scrambled over in the dead of night was missing a few shingles here and there, but it was the same. The cherry painted front door had faded to a dull red but was still flanked by crumbling plaster pots that burst with yellow seasonal flowers. It was the same front door he’d walked through on a hundred different days. It was a place he’d loved, the first house where he’d ever felt at home.

Amber pushed the door open without needing to fumble with keys. It would have horrified Erik if it weren’t so achingly familiar. She walked inside and he caught the scent of the house in her wake - rosemary, gardenias, laundry detergent - and paused at the threshold.

Rowan bumped his shoulder and offered a strained smile. Erik regained control of his legs and went inside.

“Well, I’ve got to get dinner on the stove if we plan on eating tonight,” Amber announced, before disappearing into the kitchen halfway through her declaration. Rowan let out a breath and caught Erik’s eye. He nodded towards the stairs.

Erik frowned, eyes narrowing. He shook his head.

Rowan pressed his lips together and jerked a thumb towards his mother, and promptly mimed a gun to the head.

_Touché._

Erik offered a put-upon sigh before reaching out to drag Rowan’s backpack from his shoulder. Summarily dismissed, he shot Rowan a baleful look before climbing the stairs. When he glanced back, he caught the edge of Rowan’s grimace as he steeled himself, before following his mother into the kitchen.

Some battles weren’t fought with weapons. 

Erik took the stairs slowly where once he’d have sprinted, his steps echoing. He skimmed his hand over the railing and wondered if he’d left his fingerprints there, _before._

When he reached the landing and opened the door to Rowan’s room, it hit him at once, a ghost of the space he remembered too well.

He’d watched enough television to know the running gag when it came to kids leaving for college, despite having never experienced it on his own - some parents immediately took over abandoned bedrooms to make playrooms of their own, while others kept the room just as it had been before, as if erecting a shrine to honor those lost.

Erik wasn’t altogether surprised to find Amber was one of the latter. 

The desk was still messy, littered with uncapped pens and haphazardly stacked notebooks. The only unoccupied space was a dusty rectangle, the memory of a laptop. The walls remained plastered in posters - Guns N’ Roses, Queen, Stone Temple Pilots. The bookshelf pressed to the wall was emptier than it’d been when last he’d seen it. There were obvious holes were Rowan had taken his favorites when he left, but one entire shelf was stuffed with sheet music in a manner so full but calculated that Erik had no doubts Rowan still knew exactly where everything was. He glanced towards the bed and hoped the sheets weren’t a remnant from five years ago, too. 

He flopped down onto the comforter, reassured by the puff of fabric softener-scented air. Erik rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, and realized at once what was missing. 

The room no longer smelled like Rowan at all.

It was a sobering thought, one that had him wondering - not at all for the first time - just _what_ had pushed a reasonably happy, well-adjusted kid to run from Cobblestone without looking back. Even after they’d stumbled upon each other in Wilmington a year after he’d left, Erik had never asked. He knew all too well that urge to keep scars hidden away from prying eyes.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to know.

After about five minutes and one crudely drawn anatomical cartoon later, he left the room in search of Rowan or further entertainment, whichever came first. Erik made it halfway down the stairs when the voices from the kitchen reached him. 

“I worry, that's all,” Amber was saying. “It’s just so sudden-”

“It’s _not_ sudden at all,” Rowan fired back. The frustrated edge to his voice was audible even from the other room, even as he fought hard to keep it under wraps. Erik sat down on the step. He felt very little shame in eavesdropping, not when he was the topic at hand.

“It’s - I - he...this has been a long time coming,” Rowan continued, fumbling to reach the words he wanted. Erik grimaced; Rowan had never been a good liar. “We’re together and if you can’t deal with that, if you want us to leave-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rowan, of course I don’t want you to leave. Maybe you could just make plans to have lunch with Gemma, while you’re in town.”

Erik heard Rowan sigh. _“Mom._ I’m not going to go make a date with her while my boyfriend, what? Sits around and waits for me to come back? Listen, I’ll see her at Rab’s and we’ll chat, but I’m here with Erik, okay? And that’s who I want to be here with. I love him.”

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Erik wished he had some way to kill the swarm of butterflies that fluttered in his stomach.

_I love him._

He pinched the skin of his thigh until it hurt. _Remember that none of this is real._

The sink turned back on in the kitchen, and the sound of clinking silverware almost drowned out Amber’s next words.

“It just...well, it doesn’t hurt to keep your options open, love.” She sounded light and all too cheerful, and Erik knew Rowan couldn’t fight with her for long. They lapsed into silence. Erik stayed on the stairs, clenching and unclenching his fists. After a moment, he pulled out his phone.

 

 **Erik:** So if a fake boyfriend and his mother were arguing about you, would you interrupt or just leave them to it

 

It only took about forty seconds for the phone in his hand to vibrate with an incoming message.

 

 **Mia:** ?? what the hell Erik

Are you drunk or something?

 **Erik:** of course not, jesus

You are no help at all, idk why I even asked

 **Mia:** Ok, calm down and explain

 **Erik:** Well

I came back to cobblestone with Rowan to be his fake date to get his mother to leave him alone. Now they’re fighting about me so does that fall under my duties to break it up or what

 **Mia:** …

Wow no wonder you ducked my call the other day, you sneak

I can’t believe you

But anyway I’d think no, that would just make it more awkward, right?

What are you doing anyway, sitting in the corner somewhere with a cup to the wall?

 **Erik:** I am not

I didn’t mean to overhear them it just happened

He heard footsteps and hastily pressed himself against the wall of the stairwell. Rowan brushed past the staircase and stormed deeper into the living room, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets. Erik frowned, and silently counted to sixty. He nodded to himself when, within the minute, tinkling piano filled the room.

 

 **Erik:** anyway I gotta go, he’s stress-playing now

 **Mia:** you two are so weird I swear

 **Erik:** whatever love ya kid

 

Erik shoved his phone into his pocket, got to his feet, and followed the music. 

The first thing he noticed when he hopped down from the bottom step was the way Rowan’s hair hung loose, a shifting curtain around his face. He rarely played without it being pulled back out of his eyes. 

Erik glanced to his right. In the kitchen, Amber bustled past and met his gaze for a second. The skin around her eyes pinched tight before she looked away and continued on towards the stove. His eyes fell back on Rowan and his mouth pulled up into a smirk, something only a little vindictive guiding him forward to step up to the piano bench.

When he swept his fingers through Rowan’s hair and drew it back, Rowan startled under his hands. It was a testament to his skill, or maybe just his stubbornness, that he didn’t miss a note in the arrangement he was playing. Erik’s grin stretched wider. He threaded his fingers through silky strands and pulled Rowan’s hair up into a simple twist. “You know,” Erik began, peering over Rowan’s shoulder at the sheet music in the stand, “I wonder if our pal Vladimir meant for his song to be played so...angrily.” 

Rowan huffed a short, one-note laugh and finished out the page he was on before letting his fingers fall still on the keys. Even as the music tapered off, he didn’t lift his hands or eyes from the piano. “Depends on your perspective, I think,” he said finally, keeping his voice low. “Some might say it’s just an angry song.”

Erik hummed a non-committal response and let his nails graze over Rowan’s scalp. Rowan tipped his head back into the touch, his eyes drifting shut as bliss evened out the stress lines that creased his forehead.

 _This was a mistake,_ Erik thought, when his stomach swooped low in a manner both unsettling and stirring. He’d provoked something, started a dangerous game he wasn’t sure how to play.

Rowan’s expression was very close to the way he’d looked in the seconds after they’d kissed in front of the airport.

_God, that kiss._

Erik wanted to ask him about it, desperately. He wanted - _needed_ \- to know how Rowan, the boy who hated lying and spent the weekend before panicking over this very charade, had managed to fake a kiss like _that._

He couldn’t quite silence the little voice inside chanting that it hadn’t felt fake at all.

Erik itched to ask, but he wasn’t sure he could handle hearing the answer. Instead, he raked his fingers through Rowan’s hair once more before gathering it into one hand. He reached out to snag the tie Rowan kept around his wrist with the other. Then, with the ease of one who’d spent his early years fixing his sister’s hair, he tied off the bun in a neat twist. If he was unable to stop his fingers from tucking one stray strand of Rowan’s hair behind his ear, well. It was meant to be part of the show, anyway.

Rowan opened his eyes and smiled, a genuine smile that made something inside Erik’s chest ache with the warnings of the heart attack he was likely to end the week with. “Thanks.”

“What are boyfriends for?” Erik murmured. He kept his voice low, just for them. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

The corners of Rowan’s mouth turned down, his smile evaporating. “Later,” he said, “when it’s just you and me.”

“Boys! Dinner!” Amber sang from the kitchen. Erik reeled from the sharp pang of displacement once more. Those words, the room he stood in, all of it gave the illusion of stepping back into a time lost, one he’d never wanted to leave.

Rowan was still watching him, looking overly content. Erik gave his earlobe a quick yank and darted towards the kitchen while Rowan’s yelp dogged his retreat. Erik needed the change of scenery, even welcomed what was sure to be an uncomfortable meal. There was something a little too raw about looking back and finding only the blurred edges that time so often marked memories with. He’d be better off keeping his eyes forward.

* * *

 

Five inches between them. Maybe six. Even less so between their hands, splayed out between their bodies on the sheets. If he reached for Erik, just a little, they’d touch.

Rowan stared up at the ceiling, trying to dig deep enough to find some untapped well of calm and logic. They’d shared a bed before - not often, certainly - but enough in the past that it shouldn’t affect him as much as it was. In fact, he’d been looking forward to it. Just the two of them with no scrutiny, no pretense. That had been _before_ Erik came out of the bathroom, damp and smelling like Rowan’s own shampoo, and before he’d thrown himself down onto the bed in nothing more than his boxers and Rowan’s heart had stopped dead at the sight. 

It was only because he’d kissed him earlier that it was awkward now, and he’d been so, _so stupid_ to do it. 

He knew better. He’d told himself to skate by this week on hand holding and cheek kisses alone, to stay firmly in the realm of affection that could be faked. Rowan knew himself well enough to be too aware of the reality that, with a _real_ kiss, he would never be able to lie. 

But was it really possible that it’d only been pretend? The way Erik had responded, the little sound he’d made - the way that, for just a split second, it looked like he wanted to dive back in for more - 

_Stop._

He was way too warm, too keyed up to sleep. Rowan flopped over onto his stomach and pressed his face into the pillow to muffle a frustrated groan. 

“You awake?” 

He froze. He counted to ten in his head before shifting to glance Erik’s way. Erik was facing him, his hair sticking up wildly. There was a familiar restlessness reflected in his eyes, and Rowan could only nod. 

“Want to go out on the roof?” 

He didn’t even have to think about it. _“Yes.”_

They were a scramble of limbs and muffled laughter, despite the fact that they were no longer children breaking a rule. Even so, Rowan couldn’t deny that his heart still raced at the thrill. He grabbed the hoodie that Erik had stolen that morning and yanked it down over his own head. Erik nearly crashed to the floor in his haste to shove a leg into a pair of jeans. Before two minutes had passed, Erik threw open the window and climbed out into the cool night air. 

Rowan followed him slowly, far less certain of his balance at twenty-two than he’d been at sixteen. Erik glanced at him with a smirk before wrapping his fingers around Rowan’s wrist and tugging him forward, traversing over sagging shingles with a confidence Rowan wished he could share in, if only just once.

When they made it to the roof of the shed Erik stretched out and pillowed his head on his arm. Rowan eased down beside him, unable to stop his eyes from running over the sharp lines of his hip bones, the flat plane of his stomach, and up to the graceful arcs of his collarbones. He wanted to map Erik’s pale skin with his fingers, with his tongue. Alone together under the skies as they were, it was an impulse that only grew harder to control.

When Rowan glanced up and met Erik’s eyes, he found him looking back. At once, he was grateful for the darkness to hide the flush that crept up his neck.

“What?” Erik asked, his voice low.

“Nothing, just...aren’t you cold?”

Erik grinned and looked up. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Of course not. I forgot you were a Disney Princess.”

 _“Queen,”_ Erik corrected, “Elsa is the Queen.”

Rowan smiled up at the stars, at the faintest visible line of the moon. “My mistake, your Majesty.” After a moment, he asked, “What does that make me?”

Erik was quiet for so long Rowan wondered if he hadn’t heard. Finally, he said, “The royal pianist, of course.”

“Of course,” Rowan murmured.

“What did your mom say to you when I was upstairs?”

Rowan hesitated. He wound the hood string around his finger until the tip turned red, then let it go. “She was just surprised, I guess. To see us together.”

“So she wants you to ditch me and go find a blonde girl to live happily ever after with, right?” He was teasing, Rowan knew, but that didn’t make the edge that underlined Erik’s voice any less apparent.

 Rowan sighed. “I mean, yeah. That’d probably make her happier.” He fell silent, aware of Erik’s eyes on him, aware too of the fact that his own breaths came loud and harsh amid the rustle of the wind and cricket song. “I always feel like shit that I can’t make her happy, you know?” he whispered.

He almost wished he could take it back. When he chanced a glance at Erik, he was scowling. “Don’t. You shouldn’t...it’s not your job to please everyone all the time, Rowan.”

“I know that,” he mumbled, taking his lower lip between his teeth. “It’s a little easier in theory than in practice, though.”

Rowan felt the lightest brush of fingertips on the inside of his wrist and stopped breathing. Erik wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Hey, what did you want to tell me earlier?” he asked, his voice casual and offhand in a manner too practiced to be believable. 

He should tell him. He’d meant to do it hours ago, before they’d even made it to Cobblestone, but something about laying beside Erik beneath the stars took him back to a time when everything was easier, before his heart broke and he’d disappointed everyone he loved when the mold they’d made didn’t quite fit what was left of him. There was a soft wistfulness to the night that made him want nothing more than to linger in that simplicity for just a while longer.

“Just that I’m happy you came with me,” Rowan told him, waiting until Erik looked his way.

He seemed to search Rowan’s face for a moment before offering a gentle smile. “Glad to help.”

There were secrets between them. There had always been those things neither of them wanted to say out loud for fear of breaking what couldn’t easily be put back together. Rowan knew it, he’d known it for years. But with Erik’s fingers drawing slow, tentative circles on his arm and the kiss they’d shared at the forefront of his mind, it was hard for Rowan to believe that there existed anything that could split them apart. 

Then he stared up at the outline of the moon, something old and new all at once, and couldn’t help but to hope there might be a change on the horizon, too. 

“Pick a constellation,” Rowan whispered, “and tell me about it.”

Erik’s hand left his skin as he pointed up. “Lyra,” he said, painting pictures in the sky with his clever fingers. “The story goes that Apollo gave Orpheus a lyre and the music he made with it was so damn perfect that they kept it in the stars. Supposedly his songs could soothe anger and bring joy to whoever heard them.”

Rowan’s heart thumped once, twice in his chest before squeezing in a way that should have been an anatomical impossibility. His mouth curled into a smile. “Why’d you pick that one?”

“Reminds me of someone,” Erik countered.

Rowan grinned. Erik continued, his voice hushed as he described Cassiopeia, Pisces, and other stories Rowan had heard plenty of times before. He listened more to the rising and falling cadence of Erik’s voice than he did to the words themselves and thought again of music, always a solace.

When they both crawled back through the bedroom window and collapsed onto the pillows and blankets, Rowan had no more problems falling asleep with Erik at his side.

 

* * *

* * *

 

[WEDNESDAY]

 

The incessant buzzing of his cell phone on the nightstand woke him.

Rowan blinked, squinting against the sun pouring in through the slatted blinds before shutting his eyes once more. He was far too comfortable to even consider the idea of getting up - his pillow was squished in just the right way and there was something warm pressed against his chest. After another moment of willing it away, his phone even stopped vibrating.

_Perfect._

Then the something - or, in fact, _someone_ \- against him let out a soft breath, and Rowan froze. His eyes popped open.

He was wrapped around Erik like a nested spoon in a drawer. His hand cradled Erik’s hip like it was made to fit there. Erik’s back was arched up just right against Rowan’s front, and the realization of their somewhat compromising placement was about to make a potentially embarrassing moment much worse.

Without another thought, Rowan jerked away from him with more violence than strictly necessary. He rolled and kept rolling until the bed vanished beneath him. He flung out an arm in a failed attempt to catch himself before he hit the floor with a loud thump, taking half the contents of the nightstand down with him. His breath left him in a gasp, and for a second, he saw stars when his cell phone struck him in the temple like a brick.

Above him, there was the sound of rustling sheets. Erik peered over the edge of the bed, blinking sleep from his eyes. His eyebrows shot upwards. “Shit, you okay?”

Rowan rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Oh, um. Yeah.”

The corner of Erik’s mouth twitched as he fought a smirk. “What the hell was that?” 

“I fell,” Rowan grumbled.

Erik’s grin stretched. “Obviously, Grace.” He reached out and righted the tipped lamp. 

“Must have just, you know. Stretched too far, or something,” Rowan hedged, kicking free of the blanket that wrapped his legs before sitting up.

“Oh, sure.”

Rowan gripped his phone and stumbled to his feet. “Gotta go shower,” he grunted, before leaving the room to the sound of Erik’s barely muffled snickering. When he made it to the bathroom he shut the door, leaned against it, and sank to the floor. He let his head drop back against the door and thumped it once more for good measure. He thought back to Erik’s skin under his hands and thought a very, very cold shower was in order before glancing down at his phone.

The notification read _Missed Call - Jade._ Rowan muttered under his breath and began to type.

 **Rowan:** too early

 **Jade:** Oh, hush. What, did I interrupt some manly and totally platonic snuggles?

 **Rowan:** ....witch. How did you - nvm I don’t wanna know

 **Jade:** I’ve read this book before, trust me. Anyway, my plane lands at 8 pm tonight. Will you be alive tomorrow, or shall I begin with the arrangements?

 **Rowan:** just make sure the flowers are nice. Maybe something blue

 **Jade:** Noted. I’m sure Sylvando will sing beautifully at the service.

 **Rowan:** no singing

 **Jade:** The tombstone will say something like, “Good at piano, terrible at life choices’

 **Rowan:** you aren’t as funny as you think you are

 **Jade:** Very rude. How’s it going, really?

 **Rowan:** only about as badly as you think it is

 **Jade:** Well, love. It was awfully nice knowing you.

 

Rowan sighed, long and loud, before starting violently at a knock at the door over his head. “Jesus, what?” he called, with more bite than necessary.

There was a pause. “Are you gonna get in the shower, or can I take a piss?” Erik demanded.

Rowan chewed on his lower lip, turning his phone over between his hands before standing back up and yanking the door open. Erik, rumple-haired, half-naked, and agitated did nothing to ease Rowan’s discomfited state. “Go on, then,” Rowan shuffled his way past Erik in the doorway, taking great pains to keep their bodies from touching. He was confident that would only exacerbate his problem. 

Erik shut the door behind him and Rowan leaned against the wall. After a moment, he heard, “Did you forget how the shower works or something? Need my help?”

There was something just a little off about his tone. _God,_ was he flirting? Rowan closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Don’t talk to me while you pee.” 

He heard Erik laugh. About fifty hours until they flew back home, give or take. Fifty-ish hours until they went back to normal. He could handle that.

 _Maybe._  

* * *

 

“So, remind me again why we’re grocery shopping?” 

Truth was, Erik knew why they were grocery shopping. He’d seen Amber’s mile-long list: apples, enough butter to last the year, and inexplicably, thumbtacks, the last of which Erik hoped weren’t for baking. When he’d pictured himself and Rowan back in Cobblestone, he’d thought they’d spend the day running around old haunts instead of running errands. He gripped the handle of the shopping cart and hopped up, both feet landing on the undercarriage. When the opposite end began to rise, Rowan shot out a hand to hold it steady. Erik grinned.

“Mom had to run to Dunstan’s and help him with a busted pipe or something. I don’t know, her note was not specific,” Rowan said, distracted as he scanned the shelves. He found the brand of flour his mother had requested before tossing the sack in beside a bulging bag of apples, and tugged the cart further down the aisle. Erik hung on, along for the ride. 

“What else do we need to find?” Erik asked.

“Butter, parchment paper, light bulbs, my long-lost potential, and like ninety other things.”

As they rolled through the baking aisle, Erik reached out and grabbed a box, narrowly avoiding sending three others crashing to the floor. “Why don’t you just get this? Or hey, one of those pre-made pie crusts?”

The look Rowan shot him over his shoulder was scandalized. “What, the frozen kind?”

Erik scoffed. “Yeah, so?”

“I’d love to hear you pitch that idea to my mother,” Rowan shook his head. _“Pre-made_ pie crusts, of all things.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were going to be an asshole about it.” 

Rowan offered him a broad smile. “Come on. Pie making is serious in our house.” 

“Then where the hell have the pies been for four years? I have never once seen you make a pie. I think you’re lying,” Erik argued.

Rowan laughed, pulling the cart behind him as he went. “Would I lie to you?”

“Probably,” Erik grumbled. He snatched a bag of M&M’s off an endcap as they passed it.

“You’re grumpy,” Rowan observed.

“I told you. There wasn’t any coffee in your mom’s house.”

Rowan glanced at him, biting down on his lip to hide a smile. Erik wished he could bite there, too. “Go get some, then.”

Erik blinked. Coffee wasn’t on the list. “That’s...a good plan.” 

Rowan waved a hand. “Shoo. I’ll be on the dairy aisle.”

Erik stepped down from the cart and put his feet back on solid ground, watching as Rowan strolled away and disappeared among shelves. After far too many minutes of hunting in an unfamiliar store - why did they all have to be laid out differently, anyway? - and debating the merits of K-Cups versus grounds, Erik finally grabbed the cheapest container he could find before scouting around for the dairy aisle.

When Erik turned a corner and caught sight of his friend, he paused. Rowan was no longer alone - a blonde woman reached out and touched him on the shoulder. When Rowan turned around, his expression melted from one of polite confusion to something that gnawed at Erik’s insides. Rowan looked soft in the way that made Erik’s heart seize when that particular expression was aimed his way. He looked soft and unbearably sad.

As Erik watched, Rowan stretched out his hand as if to touch, only to freeze, unsure of himself. After a second, he spread his arms wide in invitation, and she stepped into the circle of his embrace like she belonged there. Her head tucked into the crook of his neck as if it were a missing piece, as if she fit against him better than anyone else would. They stayed that way for a moment too long, wrapped up in each other in front of the dairy cooler, and something inside of Erik’s stomach burned and burned, giving way to acid.

He shouldn’t be jealous, he knew. He had no real reason to be; Rowan had no interest in women, and Erik had no claim to him, not really. Besides, he could recognize Gemma, the girl he’d been brought along to fend off, but Gemma was looking at Rowan in a way that suggested she _knew_ him, that she’d seen some hidden side of him that Erik had never been privy to. 

Rowan offered her the smallest, shyest of smiles, and Erik decided right then that he hated it, hated them, hated this entire town. 

When Rowan turned and caught sight of him, his cheeks flushed red. “Erik!” 

Wordlessly, Erik approached. He tossed the coffee tin into the shopping cart when he got close enough and took some satisfaction in the loud clattering sound it made. Rowan reached out and grabbed his hand, tangling their fingers together. His palm was sweaty, and for the first time, Erik had to fight the urge to snatch his hand back instead of holding on tighter. 

There was a secret between Rowan and Gemma, something he didn’t know.

Erik didn’t like not knowing.

Gemma’s eyes dropped to their hands and her eyebrows rose. “Erik? Oh, I haven’t seen you since-”

“Since high school, yeah,” he cut in, his voice decidedly less friendly. The corners of Rowan’s mouth turned down into a frown. 

Gemma offered a polite smile, far more hesitant. “Yes, that sounds right. You’ve been well, I hope?”

“Well enough.”

“Okay,” Rowan spoke up, injecting an absurd amount of false cheer into his voice. “Well, we’ve uh, got to go get these pies started. You know how Mom is about Thanksgiving pie, so...we’ll see you at the dinner tomorrow, then?”

Gemma’s gaze flicked over Erik and darted once more to their clasped hands before settling back on Rowan. Her eyes softened into something understanding. Erik wondered how he’d missed so much of a conversation he’d been mostly present for.  

Gemma reached out and touched Rowan’s other wrist. “It was good running into you, Rowan. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” 

 _A promise,_ Erik wondered, _or a threat?_

“Yeah, sure thing,” Rowan murmured, watching as she left. As soon as Gemma’s ponytail whipped around the aisle and disappeared from sight, Erik pulled his hand free and leaned on the shopping cart handle instead. Rowan’s brows furrowed.

“What was that?”

“What?” Erik muttered, examining the contents of the cart and avoiding Rowan’s stare. “Half of this shit is gonna melt if we don’t get back.”

“You were rude,” Rowan scolded. “You didn’t have to be.”

“Sorry, was I not supposed to get rid of her? Wasn’t that what this whole stupid thing was about, anyway?” 

Rowan let out an exasperated huff and raked his fingers through his hair. Erik could too easily recall the press of those fingers. He swiped his hand over his jeans to rid himself of the ghost of Rowan’s touch. “It wasn’t-” Rowan started. “It was more about Mom than Gemma. I wouldn’t have minded talking to her, we didn’t exactly leave things-”

“Well next time I won’t bother,” Erik interrupted, suddenly furious without even knowing why. “It’s not like I wanted to come.”

Hurt flickered over Rowan’s face. It only made Erik feel worse. “This was your idea!” Rowan argued, incredulous. “I don’t understand-” he let out a breath. His shoulders hunched forward, making him look smaller as he took a hesitant step closer and reached out a hand to touch Erik’s shoulder, tentative, as though he approached a wounded animal. “I don’t want to fight with you, okay?”

Erik didn’t particularly want to fight with him either, but something wild writhed beneath his skin and hissed in his ear, a warning and an accusation all at once. 

 _Ishouldtellyousomething,_ Erik remembered. There was something he didn’t know, but he had already fished for it once. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he said instead, “let’s just go.” 

Rowan withdrew his hand without ever making contact. His face, for just a moment, looked the same as it had when he’d reached for Gemma; the wariness in his eyes, the sadness at the corners of his mouth made him look like he’d realized he was trying to grab hold of something once safe and stable, only to look around and notice he was lost in a place he’d once recognized.

Erik shoved his hands in his pockets and let guilt claw him to shreds.

“Okay, yeah, we can go,” Rowan told him, before quietly making his way over to the check-out. Erik trailed behind him.

Rowan always had a song in his head, Erik knew. Whether it was a happy tune or a melancholy one was often a mystery, and what Erik wanted - sometimes more than anything else - was to be able to hear it, to know Rowan’s melodies by heart when he couldn’t quite puzzle out anything else. Then, he’d be able to speak Rowan’s language when spoken words failed them.

* * *

 

They trucked grocery bags into the house in silence. More than once on the ride home, Erik had noticed Rowan open his mouth to speak, only to shut it without making a sound. Erik thought again of secrets hidden, but he remembered too the divots in Rowan’s lower lip from nervous gnawing, he remembered the worry in his eyes and the relief that overcame it when Erik had promised that this didn’t have to be complicated.

Rowan eased the last of the bags up onto the countertop. When he finally spoke, his voice was so formal Erik couldn’t stand it. “I can make them by myself, if you’d rather -”

“Shut up, I’m helping,” Erik interrupted, leaning his hip against the counter to watch as Rowan spread the purchased ingredients out on the surface. Rowan glanced at him before turning his attention back to yanking open the bag of flour. “So, how do we start?”

Rowan peeked at Erik once more from under his lashes, measuring and uncertain. Erik raised his eyebrows and crossed his eyes, and finally, Rowan smiled. “We’ve got to do the crusts first,” he explained, “to let them freeze for an hour or so while we make the filling.” 

“This sounds hard,” Erik said. Rowan leveled off a cup of flour with his finger and smirked.

“It’s really not.”

“Says the one who, _apparently,_ makes pies all the time without sharing.” 

“We’re making a pie right now,” Rowan laughed. He swiped the back of his hand over his cheek and left a white smudge. “You can have some.”

Erik stared at the flour streak, something unbearably fond making his heart turn over. “Yeah,” he started, his voice uneven, “but it’s not for me.”

“I’ll make you one for your birthday, then. With blackberries,” Rowan said, flashing him a grin.

Erik swallowed. Blackberries were his favorite.

It was times like these that made Erik realize he was doomed. Rowan made him feel so _known,_ in a way that filled his gaping holes and sanded down his broken edges, in a way that made him feel like he’d finally found his home. It was also times like these that made Erik want to kiss him breathless, to shove him up against the nearest wall and leave his mark where he’d always felt safest, to love, and to feel loved in return. But change didn’t always come with safety. In his experience, the two were mutually exclusive.

 _Today_ though, he could. For just two more days, he could love him freely and fearlessly.

He swiped his hand over the floured counter tip and slapped a dusty white handprint onto Rowan’s chest instead. 

For a second, Rowan looked appalled, then his eyes narrowed. Erik offered him a grin bordering on feral as his heart sped up. 

Rowan looked down at his hands, his lips pursed, then lunged. Rowan’s hands grazed his cheeks, leaving streaks across Erik’s face before running his fingers up into his hair. Erik laughed and left another handprint on his shirt before gripping his shoulders, grappling for the upper hand. Rowan’s hip hit the counter. One of Erik’s thighs slipped between his as he pressed his advantage. His hands found Rowan’s jaw and left a powdered coat of white over his stubble. Their eyes met, and both of them froze.

The laugh lines fanning Rowan’s eyes evened out as his eyebrows rose high, his mouth parting open. Rowan’s hands fisted in Erik’s shirt at his waist, and Erik dropped his gaze to Rowan’s mouth. It was too much and not nearly enough, all at once.

 _Kiss me,_ he thought. _Kiss me again, and then never stop._

There was a moment he remembered well, one of the last days of peace he’d had left with his sister before her new parents decided he was too broken, before everything fell apart, before he was tossed aside like trash in a gutter. It was the day they’d gone to Tallulah Gorge for Mia’s eleventh birthday, and Erik stood out on a ledge and looked down, the ground so far away it seemed to exist no longer. He thought of the impossibility of people who survived plane crashes, of those who leapt into an abyss and walked away without a scratch. Erik had wondered then what it must be like, to step off a precipice and fly for just an instant. You might live to tell the tale, but you’d never be quite the same as you were before the fall.

Now, the anticipation of Rowan’s kiss felt a little like that: fear and exhilaration, compounded with the desperate need to see what might happen if he left stable ground behind. 

Rowan’s breath hitched. Displaced air stirred against Erik’s mouth. Neither one of them moved but for the impatient twitch of Erik’s fingers over Rowan’s jaw, the caress of his thumb over Rowan’s cheekbone, and the rapid rise and fall of Rowan’s chest against his. He was waiting, Erik realized with frustration, for something that hadn’t stopped him last time. It occurred to Erik then that _he_ could kiss _Rowan_ instead. 

He’d been waiting for it all too long. A minute, a day, or perhaps even since he’d been sixteen years old and starved for it.

Erik leaned forward. Their foreheads bumped, noses brushed. Rowan sucked in, a soft gasping sound that sent a shiver down Erik’s spine.

Behind them, the door crashed open.

“You made it to the store, then,” Amber was saying as she dropped her purse onto the table by the door. “Sorry I was gone so long, I-” She paused, brows furrowing.

Erik shoved away from Rowan and pushed a hand through his hair, his face flaring hot. Rowan ducked his head and sank his hands into his pockets. He was covered in flour stains, and Erik could imagine he looked much the same. 

The three of them stood in silence for a beat, then another. Miraculously, Amber’s lips quirked up. She let go of a small huff of laughter, both amused and exasperated. “You’ve made a mess,” she said, her voice laced with disapproval that didn’t land quite as firmly as she might have liked.

Rowan cleared his throat. When he spoke, it still had gravel in it. “Sorry, Mom. We’ll clean it up.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, go on. Wash up instead. I’ll finish those pies since you boys can’t seem to focus on it.”

Rowan met Erik’s gaze, his cheeks pink. His mouth pulled up into a grin.

Erik stared at the handprint he’d made, pressed right over Rowan’s heart. It all suddenly felt like a losing battle, an inevitability he was crashing towards too quickly to slow down. He tried again to remember those rules he’d clung to once, and wondered if for years he’d only been throwing oil on a fire instead of water.

* * *

 

“What do you want to watch?” Rowan asked as he scrolled through Netflix titles. Erik flopped down onto the bed next to him and punched a pillow into the perfect shape before leaning back.

“I don’t know, you pick.”

Rowan studied the television with far more seriousness than the task warranted. “Indiana Jones.”

Erik checked his phone. He had a missed text from Veronica - no words, only a string of creatively obscene emojis. He fought back a smirk, only to look up when Rowan’s words registered. “We’ve seen that one a hundred times, why?”

Rowan only blinked at him. “Do I even have to explain?”

“You’re really going to lust over Harrison Ford right in front of your fake boyfriend?” Erik scoffed.

Rowan’s lips twitched into a grin. “It’s not the first time. Come on,” he said, his voice dropping low. Rowan shifted closer until his chin rested on Erik’s shoulder. “What could be better than Harrison Ford shooting nazis? Also, now I’m comfy and the controller is all the way over there.”

Erik’s mouth felt dry. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. “Whatever. You just want to cuddle.” 

Rowan laughed. “I really do.”

Erik’s heart stopped, then thumped so violently it was a miracle it wasn’t audible. Rowan burrowed his head in closer against Erik’s collarbone, his breath warm on Erik’s skin. He tried to come up with reasons why this was all part of the facade - Amber might walk in, Gemma could climb through the window - no matter how implausible the excuse might be, he couldn’t escape the honesty in Rowan’s voice, or the look he’d caught in his eyes more than once since Saturday. 

He was fairly certain they’d stopped pretending.

Tentatively, Erik skated his fingers across Rowan’s back before letting his arm settle over his shoulders. He thought he felt Rowan smile against his neck. He could get used to this.

Erik let out a low breath amid gunfire on the television screen. That wasn’t quite true. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way his body reacted to Rowan’s closeness, how heat ignited his blood and magnets tugged under his skin. They were all but jammed together, and it still wasn’t close enough.

Halfway through the movie Rowan’s weight settled into him a little more heavily and his breaths evened out, so Erik took the opportunity to study him in sleep. Rowan was relaxed in a way he rarely was while awake. He didn’t fidget, he didn’t frown. He looked tranquil, and Erik felt flush with pride for being the one to provide him with such a comfort. He brushed the softest of kisses against Rowan’s temple and tried to commit the moment to memory, and thought again of the handprint he’d left. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever become accustomed to such easy affection or casual demonstrations of love, no. But even still, he grew more and more damn sure he wanted to keep it.

* * *

* * *

 

[THURSDAY]

 

“Shit. Have you seen my belt?” Rowan called in the direction of the bathroom as his fingers fumbled over the tie around his neck. He was seconds away from yanking it free and abandoning it on the floor, party be damned, when a snap of leather hit the backside of his black dress pants. Rowan yelped and spun around to catch Erik behind him. The half-done buttons on his shirt and bared skin distracted Rowan only momentarily from the offending belt in Erik’s hands and the wicked grin that graced his mouth. He felt heat drum up in more than just his cheeks.

“Ow,” he grumbled, snatching his belt away and focusing intently on the process of threading it through the loops on his pants to hide his blush. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Erik’s fingers playing over the front of his shirt as he completed the neglected buttons. Rowan finished his buckle and tugged on his tie with more force than necessary before scowling at the mirror. 

In the reflection, he saw Erik smirk. He’d been different all day; _lighter_ somehow, as though he’d read ahead to the last page and knew the looming end was a satisfying one. Rowan only felt more nervous for it. They’d been dancing around each other for so long he wasn’t sure how to stop, but the flirting, the lingering looks - Rowan swallowed. They stood at the edge of something. He only wished he knew whether he should go ahead and jump, or wait to be pushed. 

Rowan felt he knew less with each hour that passed.

“Are you trying to tie that, or strangle yourself with it?” Erik asked, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. 

Rowan met his eyes in the mirror. “The first one, though the second would be a fringe benefit.”

Erik grinned and stepped closer, shifting out of the reflection and into Rowan’s sight in earnest. He pulled out his phone, tapped an impatient inquiry, and straightened Rowan’s tie before setting to work, glancing down every so often to refer to the diagrams on his phone screen. “You have to wear these for recitals, how do you not know what you’re doing yet?” 

“Jade usually does it,” Rowan admitted, lifting his chin to give Erik better access. Erik’s knuckles scraped against his throat, and Rowan let out a low breath. “I suck at it.”

“Here I thought you’d be better with your hands,” Erik mused. He looked up through his lashes and held Rowan’s eye for a second, then another. His retort died on his tongue.

Rowan had wondered after the moment in the kitchen the day before just when the shift happened - when had they gone from kissing for the benefit of onlookers to trying to keep intimacy to themselves? They’d crossed the line in the sand and let the tides was it away for good measure.

Erik finished his tie and gave the tail of it a light tug. “There.” 

“Your turn, then?” Rowan asked, his voice thicker than he’d like.

“No way. I haven’t worn a tie since the Carsons tried to drag me to Mass, and I don’t plan on breaking that record,” Erik scoffed.

Tie or not, he was beautiful. Granted, Rowan always thought Erik was beautiful, but there was something about seeing him dressed to the nines while still managing to look artfully disheveled, all while maintaining his usual air of insouciance that made Rowan need with a ferocity that ached. 

_To hell with the party._

He could nudge Erik backward, guide him in reverse until his legs met the bed they’d been sharing. He could line their bodies up and let his mouth follow the column of Erik’s throat, a path he’d longed to explore for years. He could have him shaking beneath his hands and show Erik just how much he wanted, and just how deeply he was loved.

Rowan cleared his throat. “Erik,” he started, low and gravelly. In front of him, Erik froze. His fingers stilled on Rowan’s tie as his eyes flicked upwards to meet his.

In Erik’s other hand his phone went off, shrill and piercing. They both startled and broke apart. 

“Shit,” Erik said. He glanced down at his phone, then his gaze darted around the room. “We’re, uh, gonna be late, right?”

 _Fuck the party,_ Rowan thought again, vehement. “Yeah, we - yeah. Yes,” he said instead. “We should go, you’re right.” He backed up, dropped down onto the bed and grabbed for a shoe. He wasn’t even certain it was one that would match.

“Wait,” Erik stepped closer, and Rowan stopped breathing. Erik reached into his pocket and withdrew his fist before grabbing Rowan’s hand and dropping what he held into his palm.

Rowan uncurled his fingers and blinked. He held two horribly mismatching cufflinks; one was rusty copper and, inexplicably, shaped like a fish. The other was a shiny silver treble clef.

Erik rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve had the stupid fish one for a while, but uh - someone dropped the music one off at the store last week, and I thought you’d - well, I thought it was good. For you.” 

Rowan stared at them for a moment more before looking back at Erik, his mouth stretching into a slow grin. “Stealing things just for me?” 

He smirked. “Pirating for myself gets boring, eventually.” 

Rowan ducked his head and fastened the cuff links to his shirt sleeves with unsteady fingers. “I thought that was the point of pirating though, right? Aren’t they all about, ‘take what you can, give nothing back?’”

Erik laughed as Rowan got back to his feet. He bumped his shoulder into Erik’s and offered a broad smile. “Thank you.” 

Perhaps it sounded heavier than it should for a simple gift, but Rowan had far more than pilfered cufflinks to be grateful for. By the way Erik’s ears turned pink, Rowan thought he might just understand the sentiment. 

* * *

 

 **Veronica:** Hellooo, are you ever going to tell me what’s going on? I’m dying over here.

 **Erik:** die faster. You’ve got some shitty timing.

 **Veronica:** oooh, I take it things are going? Are we planning nuptials yet? 

 **Erik:** so what will it take to get you to stop talking to me?

 **Veronica:** Grumpy. That pent up frustration will get you every time. 

 **Erik:** jesus stop

 **Veronica:** I mean, you have a willing participant right there with you. I’m sure Rowan would be thrilled to put you in a better mood.

 **Erik:** I’m done with this conversation.

 **Veronica:** Happy Thanksgiving! 

* * *

 

“You know, I always forget you’re basically loaded until I get to this house,” Erik mused.

“I’m not,” Rowan corrected, “my grandfather is.”

“Still,” Erik argued, “that just means - _oof,”_ he broke off at a well-aimed elbow to the ribs. Erik swiped back at Rowan, only for him to jump out of reach, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. When they reached the porch, their roughhousing ceased, both falling automatically into a nervous sort of stillness.

The heavy oak door loomed in front of them, largely dominated by an aged brass knocker in the shape of a dragon’s maw. Rowan reached for it only to pause, glancing over his shoulder at Erik. “Ready?” 

Erik shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and let out a sigh, his breath visible in a cloud between them for a moment before it dissipated. “If I say no, do we get to leave?” 

Rowan grinned. “Remember that this was your idea.” 

“Oh, trust me. I do.”

Rowan’s hand wrapped around cool metal. With his other, he reached out behind him. Erik stepped up further onto the porch and tangled his fingers up in Rowan’s.

With a deep breath, Rowan knocked. When the door swung open to reveal the man of the house himself, Rowan hardly had a moment to offer up a greeting before a firm hand clasped his elbow and yanked him over the threshold. 

“Rowan, there ye are! Well come on, get out of the cold, you’ll freeze yer bones. In ye get - who’s this you’re dragging around?”

Rowan dropped a hand onto Rab’s shoulder and tugged Erik forward with the other. “This is-” 

Rab beamed. “Erik! Well look at ye, lad, aren’t ye just a sight for auld eyes?” 

Erik blinked. “You remember me?”

“Well now, how could I forget me own grandson’s best pal?”

Erik looked flummoxed. Rowan felt a smile stretch his cheeks. He gave Erik’s hand a squeeze until he glanced back his way. “Oh, well...it’s good to see you.”

“Same to ye, laddie. Come on, let’s get some drinks in your bellies.” As Rab turned and headed down the hall, Rowan pulled Erik along in his wake. His grandfather’s living room was full of guests, and Rab was quickly pulled away by someone Rowan recognized but couldn’t have named if he tried. 

“Do you think he noticed?” Rowan whispered. 

Erik paused in his scan of the room. “Noticed what?”

 _“This,”_ Rowan raised their twined fingers. “Do you think he saw?” 

Erik’s answering smirk was equal parts warm amusement and exasperation. “Isn’t that the point? Anyway, if you’re looking for someone to be scandalized, we’re gonna have to do better than that to-” 

He broke off at Rowan’s sputtering hiss, his smirk stretching. “Really though,” Erik carried on, “do you know what I think? I think you should relax and try to stop worrying about what everyone else is thinking.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just do that. Relax is my middle name.”

Erik looked unconvinced. “I thought it was something stuffy like Charles or Henry, or some shit.” 

“It’s some shit,” Rowan confirmed, and basked in Erik’s answering laugh.

He grabbed a sparkling glass off of a passing waiter’s tray before shoving it unceremoniously into Rowan’s hands. “Drink, dearest. As for the rest, we’ll figure it out.”

Rowan’s mouth popped open at the endearment. He was certain his face flushed several different shades of red as he looked away, taking a hasty sip of champagne. Before he could respond - whether with snark or an enthusiastic kiss, one could never be certain - Erik offered him a pointed stare as a throat cleared behind him.

A large hand clapped down onto his shoulder, making Rowan jump despite Erik’s attempts at a warning. “Rowan! Always a joy to see you at these soirees.”

Rowan tried to contain a cough as he nearly choked on his drink. “Mr. Carnelian, how are you?”

He laughed, a deep and robust sound. “One day we’ll be able to dispense with the formalities I hope, I haven’t been your teacher in a number of years. But I’m well, my boy, and you?”

“Good, I’m ah, good. Do you remember Erik? He was in my year, I’m sure you had him for history, as well.”

Carnelian’s smile didn’t slip, but Erik still somehow managed to shrink in size, his shoulders slouching low. “I do remember, though I believe you moved shortly after, is that right? Tell me, what have you been doing with yourself since we last crossed paths?”

Rowan knew these parties. He knew to plaster on a smile and muddle through. He knew too that judgment often masqueraded behind falsely kind words and casual chatter. Beside him, Erik fidgeted. “Let’s see. I’m a bartender, and when I’m not pouring drinks, I work at a pawn shop.”

Rowan dug an elbow into Erik’s ribs. “He’s also putting himself through school,” he put in, as Erik cut his eyes to the side. “He’s almost got his degree in psychology so he can be a social worker.” 

Carnelian brightened. “A noble goal, young man.”

Erik shrugged one shoulder. Carnelian bid them goodbye and drifted away, and Rowan shook his head, fighting against a smirk. “You know, I’m not the biggest fan of these types of parties either, but I can promise they’re easier to stomach if you put on a fake smile and make nice.”

Erik let go of a long-suffering sigh. “Fuck that, he hated me when I was in his class. He was probably expecting me to say I’d just broken out of jail.”

“Well,” Rowan spoke around the rim of his flute, “you clean up pretty well for an escaped felon.”

Erik grinned. “Damn right. Now can we please find someone slightly enjoyable to talk to?” 

* * *

 

Erik regretted asking as soon as they found Jade, who - after parading the pair of them around in front of strangers and introducing them as lovers with a smile far too sly - proceeded to whisk Rowan away from him with little more than an apologetic wave. They were across the room, Jade’s hand wrapped around Rowan’s elbow, no doubt holding him hostage.

Erik looked around the room for the fifteenth time and debated the stability of the windows. Perhaps the one in the bathroom would open wide enough for him to shimmy out.

A woman with too much makeup caked on and a perfume that smelled precisely like the bottom of a shoe bumped into his back with a shrill giggle. Erik huffed and glanced down around once more for an escape route. 

It was worth thinking about.

He’d expected to end up left to his own devices at some point, what with Rab showing off his grandson at every opportunity. That didn’t make abandonment any easier to stomach. Through the crowd, he watched Rowan offer up a thousand-watt smile at a group of women twice his age who fawned and twittered before he managed to break loose. He turned, his eyes locking on Erik’s through the mass of bodies. 

He grinned, true and warm and genuine, and Erik stood up straighter. He thought of the old fable of the frog being slowly boiled and wondered if it was too late to jump out of the pot.

He thought it might be. He also didn’t care if it was.

Erik heard the clinking of a spoon to glass, and Rowan paused in his efforts to reach him, turning back with some visible reluctance to look at his grandfather.

Rab grinned out at the crowd. “I’d like to thank all of ye for making it out here tonight. It’s always a joy to have this house full again.” He bowed his head low. “As most of ye know, this’ll be me twenty-third Thanksgiving without my Eleanor, and in some ways, it never does get easier. But all of ye do make it better. I’m not just an auld man sitting in an auld house by me lonesome. I’m surrounded by loved ones, friends, good food and music, and that’s a pretty grand thing, I’d say.” He lifted his glass, a small smile gracing his lined face. “To family, both the ones of our making and the ones we find in time. Speaking of music and family, ye all know me grandson. Maybe if we’re lucky, we can convince him to play us a tune.”

Rowan turned spectacularly red. Jade moved back to his side and nudged him in the ribs with an elbow until he finally waved a hand in concession. Erik tracked his movements over to the piano, watched as Rowan cracked his knuckles and lifted the lid. His tongue darted out to wet dry lips.

Jade leaned against the edge of the piano, her grin pure mischief. “So, is this song going out to anyone in particular?” 

Rowan looked up from the keys with a shy smile. “Oh, well. Uh, my boyfriend, of course.”

It was Erik’s turn to blush as countless eyes turned in his direction. He ignored them as well as the frustrating swoop in his belly and kept his gaze steadfast on Rowan. After taking a deep breath, Rowan dropped his fingers to the keys and began to play. 

It was a piece Erik hadn’t heard before, which was surprising in itself - he’d heard the majority of Rowan’s repertoire, whether from the kitchen, through the walls of his bedroom, or sitting on the bench at his side. As usual, when Rowan played, Erik couldn’t look away.

Rowan bowed his head low as his fingers raced, playing his chosen song from memory. The noises from the crowd fell to a hushed murmur, then to silence as music swelled to fill in the quiet spaces left behind. The hairs on Erik’s arm stood on end. Rowan had said this song was for him, and Erik was beginning to believe he’d meant it. It calmed him, as listening usually did. Rowan’s music made the tension in his shoulders settle, soothed the itch to run. It reminded him of a hundred different days, of passing years, of _home._ Erik figured there was only one explanation for it, and it was one he’d come up with the first time he’d sat next to him at the piano, an audience of one. 

Quite simply, when Rowan played, he made magic. 

Erik took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to go to him, to claim his place at Rowan’s side. A voice at his left stopped him in his tracks. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard him play I’d nearly forgotten how amazing he is,” Gemma spoke softly as she stepped up to stand next to him. Her eyes were on Rowan, where Erik’s wanted to be. “Has he done something with it?” 

Erik studied her for a moment. She looked so much like the girl he’d known in passing, and nothing like he remembered. “He teaches,” he admitted, dropping his gaze to watch the bubbles in his champagne flute. “He majored in music and now he teaches piano back home.” 

Gemma smiled, though it was a wistful thing. “I’m glad,” she told him. “I’m glad he found what he was looking for.”

Erik glanced at her, one eyebrow arching high. He had a question on his tongue when Gemma met his gaze. “I always wanted him to be happy,” she said, the slightest edge of defensiveness to her words. “Even if it wasn’t with me, even if he broke my heart, I wanted him to be happy.” 

“I wasn’t-” Erik started, wondering how he’d been cornered into this conversation.

“It makes more sense now, though. Why he left, I mean,” Gemma continued, her eyes falling back on Rowan. “I thought it was just that he wanted to go to school, but seeing him now, with you - it makes sense. He was never the same after you took off.”

All at once, Erik had a million questions, comments, and plenty of concerns, but the only thing that made it out of his mouth was an indignant, “I did not _take off.”_

Was that what everyone thought? Was that what _Rowan_ thought?

Gemma didn’t seem to be listening any longer, nor did she notice the crisis her careless words had brought on. Her eyes were on her phone, a crease working its way between her brows. “Sorry, Granddad’s calling - I just -” she hesitated. “I’m happy for you guys, okay? I wanted - will you just tell Rowan that?” 

“I - sure,” Erik said faintly, watching her retreat with a frown. The roar of applause startled him. When he turned back and his eyes found Rowan, he had finished playing and was offering his audience a sheepish smile. Erik had missed the end of his impromptu performance, and the realization had him scowling. 

Rowan slipped through the crowd amid back pats and kind words. When he reached Erik, he was still smiling, color high in his cheeks. “What’s that face for?” 

Before Erik could answer, Rowan’s nose brushed his, his mouth following in the next breath. A quick kiss, a kiss that could have merely been one among many. Natural, easy. 

Sylvando would be pleased. 

Erik inhaled, sharp and through the nose. 

“Sorry,” Rowan murmured, his voice low. His hand came up to wrap around Erik’s arm. “Everyone’s probably watching.” 

What Erik wouldn’t give to be offered a kiss that wasn’t chased by an apology, to be given one he could chase instead. He looked up and took in Rowan’s bright eyes, his open smile, and in that instant, he wanted to leave. He wanted to run, and take Rowan with him.

Erik cleared his throat. “That was quite a show.” 

Rowan’s smile stretched. He ducked his head to hide it. “Dinner,” he promised, “then we can go.” 

* * *

 

Dinner was sophisticated, as per expectation; roasted something or other with a fancy cranberry sauce, side dishes that stretched the length of the banquet table, and the infamous fried turkey that Rowan made a beeline for every single year. 

The buffet-style meal meant more mingling, more uncomfortable hovering at the outskirts of groups with plates in hand and blurred faces. If Rowan could be bothered to tear his eyes away from his date, he might have recognized some of them. 

Erik had the smallest dab of cranberry at the corner of his mouth. Rowan wondered if it could fall within the realm of pretense if he were to lean in and lick it off. 

The boisterous shouts of someone else calling Erik’s name was a welcome distraction from the salacious turn of his train of thought.

“Erik, ya old prick! What are you doing here, mate?” 

Rowan blinked. Next to him, Erik had a look of such affront that Rowan nearly choked on his turkey.

“Derk?” Erik demanded, his eyes narrowing. “What am _I_ \- what the hell are _you_ doing here?” 

“I was invited, wasn’t I?” Derk said mildly. “It’s good to see you! I’ve missed you, even if you never did call. Right unfriendly, that.” 

“You nearly got me arrested! Why the fuck would I call you?”

“Yeah but I didn’t, did I?” he protested.

If it weren’t for the abrupt feeling of being cast adrift without a lifeline, Rowan would have laughed at the utter absurdity of it all. 

Heads were beginning to turn in their direction. Rowan tugged at his tie. “Hey, um, maybe we should move this chat to another room?”

Derk squared his shoulders. “And who’s this? Maybe you should mind your business when we’re trying to talk, is what-”

Erik stuck out a silencing finger in Derk’s direction, gripped Rowan’s collar in his fist, and hauled him in close before crushing their mouths together. It was an aggressive kiss, branding and claiming, a stark contrast to the sweet taste of Erik’s tongue on his. Rowan thought he might possibly combust on the spot. 

Somewhere behind them, someone let out a shrill wolf whistle. Derk was grumbling, but neither Rowan or Erik paid him any mind. Erik pulled back but didn’t release him, his gaze molten. “We’re leaving,” he announced. 

Rowan swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Let me tell Mom and Rab bye, then.” 

 

After tracking his mother down in the den and extracting himself from an unwelcome discussion of how lovely Gemma looked in that particular shade of scarlet, Rowan leaned back against the wall in a blissfully empty corridor and let out a sigh loud enough to shake the house.

He was beginning to wonder if his mother would resort to physically shoving him back into the metaphorical closet and latching the door.

Distantly, he heard footsteps. A hand clapped onto his back, a gentle pat. “That’s a heavy look, lad.” 

Rowan sighed. “Thank you for dinner. Erik and I were heading out soon, I think.” 

“Listen to an auld man a moment, would ye?” Rab started, before leaning more weight onto his cane. “Amber and I, we keep in touch.”

Rowan stifled a groan. He did _not_ want to talk about his mother. “Granddad-”

Rab held up a hand, and Rowan fell silent. He let his shoulders slump, allowed his head to fall forward into his hands as Rab spoke again. “I know the two of ye have been a bit at odds in recent years, and I know it eats away at both yer souls. All I’m thinking is that sometimes as parents, it’s a right challenge for us to lay down the life we pictured for ye and see past it to the one ye picked for yerself instead. It’s a scary thing, see. But ye picked a good life, lad.” 

Rowan looked up, his eyebrows raising. “You think?” 

Were it anyone else, he’d hate the desperation in his voice. Even at twenty-two years old instead of sixteen, he was still throwing himself back inside the cage. The need for approval was a stain that couldn’t wash out with time alone.

“I do think,” Rab confirmed. “Ye followed what ye were passionate about and made something from it, and ye help others find that passion, too. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen ye happier than I have tonight, with Erik on that arm of yours.”

Rowan felt his face heat up. “I - we -”

Rab waved him off, then gave Rowan’s elbow a squeeze. “Ye don’t have to explain anything to me, lad. It does me good to see that smile, is all. I like to see ye happy, and yer mother will come around to it, too. Ye ought to tell her what’s on yer heart. Go on then and take yer boy home, don’t get into any trouble.” 

Rowan swallowed past the thick lump in his throat. “Thanks.” 

* * *

 

Nearly an hour later found Rowan sprinting down the old wooden path. He listened to the boards creak and groan under his shoes as he dodged holes and cracks in the dark with the benefit of memories held sacred, before finally collapsing at the end of the dock into an undignified heap. He let his eyes fall shut. 

He heard Erik’s footsteps draw closer until he sat down at his side, as still and quiet as the lake below. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Erik nudged Rowan’s cheek with something cool and metal. “Want some?”

Rowan opened his eyes to see the offered flask and gasped. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Erik’s grin flashed. “You could have asked.”

Rowan took the flask and leaned up on an elbow to drink. Next to him, Erik yanked off his shoes and socks and tossed them somewhere at their backs. “Now, was that better, worse, or about as much shit as you were expecting?”

Rowan swallowed and passed the flask back into Erik’s waiting hand. “The rum or the dinner?” 

Erik let out a loud, long-suffering sigh. Rowan smiled. “It wasn’t strictly awful,” he admitted.

“A ringing endorsement,” Erik commented. “I’m just glad to be out of there.” 

“Awful for you, then,” Rowan said. He swatted at Erik’s bare foot as he attempted to nudge him towards the water. 

“Between forced polite chatting, wearing a suit, and plenty of awkward confrontation, you’re damn right. So, I’m thinking you owe me.” Rowan felt again the insistent press of Erik’s foot against his hip. “Go on, get it.”

“It’s freezing out,” Rowan protested through a laugh.

Erik shrugged. “I guess you should have thought of that earlier. If only we’d skipped the party, then you wouldn’t have to drown.” 

Rowan circled Erik’s ankle with his fingers and gave his leg an easy tug. He thought about the moment in his room earlier that evening, when they’d been so close to giving in to whatever current it was that pulled them in. He sat up and looked down at his arm, at the mismatching cufflinks chosen with care. He lifted his gaze to Erik’s, blue eyes washed out in the dark. He thought of riptides and wondered if he hadn't drowned already.

“You know,” Rowan started, his voice low and rough. Erik blinked, immediately attuned to his change in tone. “I could think of another way.”

Erik swallowed, the pale line of his throat shifting. “Yeah?” he asked. “And what’s that?” 

Rowan let his fingers trace over the linen of Erik’s pant leg, skimmed his palm up his calf and over his knee, where he left his hand to rest. Erik stared at the point of contact before looking up slowly to meet his gaze once more. There was a beat of silence, broken only by heavy exhales. In, out.

“C’mere,” Rowan said, barely more than a whisper.

Erik gripped his tie and tugged even as he leaned in. Rowan fell into him the rest of the way, his breath leaving him completely in a shattered gust.

The clashing of mouths was a violent thing, with all the leftover heat from the kiss before and all the eagerness of those long past desperation. Erik’s hand yanked, while his other slid into Rowan’s hair. Rowan fought his way through jacket and waistcoat alike, seeking skin and warmth. They kissed like crashing fault lines, and surely mountains moved in the wake of it.

Rowan nipped at Erik’s bottom lip and drew a groan from his throat as Erik chased his mouth. He let out an unsteady breath and whispered, “Want to get out of here?” 

With a ragged exhale, Erik tipped his forehead to Rowan’s and nodded.

* * *

 

The race back to Rowan’s childhood home would always be little more than a blur when Erik thought back to how they’d gotten there. The house was blessedly dark and empty, and as welcoming a sanctuary once as it had always been before.

They clambered up the steps with little to no coordination, all wandering hands and breathless laughs that echoed down the stairwell. Erik shoved Rowan into the wall of his bedroom with more force than necessary, and Rowan kissed the apology off his lips.

There were plenty of things about Rowan that Erik knew by heart: the hesitant curl of Rowan’s smile the way a flower blooms, slow to a full unfurling; the shy brush of his eyelashes against his cheekbones, or the way he let his hair fall into his face to hide his expressions. He knew the precise color of Rowan’s eyes, and how they could shift from sunlight on the water to storm clouds in the sky. There were things he wanted to know, too, but he could admit - only to himself in the dark - that he might just be afraid to learn. But _this -_  

This he devoured with a need that threatened to burn him alive. 

Erik savored it all. The way his fingers shook as he undid buttons with a fumbling attempt at speed, the slide of his palms over Rowan’s ribs as his shirt fell open and hung loose down his shoulders, and the broken sound of Rowan’s breath catching, like leaves tossed in the wind. He thought he might already be addicted to the heat of Rowan’s mouth on his jaw, to the way Rowan’s head fell back to expose the line of his throat when Erik ventured there. He felt the thrumming beat of Rowan’s pulse under his lips and wanted to leave a mark, a memory seared into skin in something more tangible than just his fingerprints alone. 

Rowan’s back arched away from the wall, a sudden pressure against Erik’s hips that made him press back, that made his hands shake. Rowan’s fingers splayed over his waist as he walked them backward. When Erik’s legs hit the bed he fell back and dragged Rowan down with him. 

Rowan was smiling as he hovered over Erik on his hands and knees, the curve of his lips a soft, wondrous thing. It was not fleeting, and neither was it hidden. It was a secret told, finally laid out in the light. Rowan leant his weight to his elbow and Erik felt the brush of fingertips over his cheek. Erik took his hand and brought Rowan’s fingers up to press against his mouth.

Rowan’s eyes, already washed of color from the night, went darker still. His movements shifted from tender to erratic as he trailed kisses down Erik’s jaw to his throat, across a clavicle with the sharp caress of teeth. His fingers played over Erik’s ribs as Rowan worshipped bare skin. He felt hot breath against the jut of his hip, so near to where he ached for Rowan’s touch. The sensation of Rowan’s tongue as he sucked a mark into flesh stole Erik’s breath.

 _“God,”_ he panted, dragging his hands through Rowan’s hair. Rowan hooked his fingers in the band of his last remaining clothes and looked up, chest flushed and heaving. 

“Let me,” Rowan whispered, his voice wrecked over the plea. “Can I just-” 

For an instant, through the quickly gathering fog in his head, Erik thought again of boundary lines. He thought of rules and walls and secrets and of how stupid he’d been, to believe they could ever have ended up anywhere but here, tattered edges lining up to something finally whole. He met Rowan’s hungry eyes and thought of nothing else but need, of how none of his fantasies had ever come close to mirroring _this,_ here and now. 

Words died in his throat. He swallowed, forcing out a hoarse and desperate _'Yes'_   before tugging at Rowan’s hair and reveling in the sound he made. Erik canted his hips upward into his touch as Rowan whispered words against his skin, and he tried desperately to commit every instant to memory, to know it and him by heart. 

If this was a dream, it was one he wanted to be sure he remembered long after it was time to wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that happened. Let me know what you think. Thanks thanks thanks for reading and for sticking around and not hating me for taking so long, SO SORRY again, and you guys are the butter to my biscuits. Much love.


	4. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been strangling me in the best way for months and it's finally, finally done.   
> Thank you to the discord pals for sprinting with me through the rough first draft, for helping me get garbage onto a blank page so I could sift through it to find some goodness. Thanks to everyone who waited around for the ending to this story, even though you had to wait until the week after Thanksgiving (which, as it happens, is rather fitting) I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This fic wouldn't exist at all without Flutiebear, who crashed into my tumblr messages one day and said FAKE DATING. 9 months and 36K later, here we are. Thank you, Flutie, for always listening, for always reading, and for always being a friend. 
> 
> With all that said, here's the end to And I Play It On Repeat. Enjoy <3

* * *

_ Finale: the last movement of a symphony. _

* * *

 

[FRIDAY]

 

The sun had been up for close to an hour, by Erik’s counting. Light filtered in through the slatted blinds and cast shadowed lines over Rowan’s face as he slept on, entirely oblivious to Erik’s scrutiny. It was incredible he didn’t look any different, Erik thought, as everything had changed in the span of one night.

It was a disaster. A wonderful, amazing, mind-blowing disaster, to be sure - but unquestionably a disaster, all the same. 

He needed to run, or maybe just jump out the window. He wanted to tuck his nose into the curve of Rowan’s neck, a space carved just for him, but he also needed desperately to breathe. He was having a hell of a time finding air, just then.

The instinct to flee waged a bloody war with the desire to stay, and neither were left standing in the end. 

Carefully, Erik extracted one leg from the sheets, then the other. He grabbed his wrinkled slacks from the floor and plucked his phone from the nightstand. After nearly tripping over a balled-up shirt, he snatched that up, too. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes lingering on Rowan as he rolled into the vacated space to chase Erik’s warmth. Rowan let out a breath and didn’t stir again. 

He’d wanted this for so long. Erik had countless nights of dreaming about him and Rowan, of lying awake after and aching for his touch, but now that it had actually happened he wondered if dreams simply felt safer in the dark without the sun to compete with. 

He fled into the hallway, furtively checking Amber’s closed door before fumbling into his pants with little grace. He took the stairs as quickly as he could without sacrificing his near-silent steps - he preferred to let the house sleep on, if he could.

Erik pushed the door out of his way. The outside air was cold enough to have even him wishing he’d grabbed a jacket, but he leaped from the porch and hit the sidewalk, letting his feet carry him away.

It was Cobblestone that had him on edge, he was sure of it. Everything was familiar, but with just enough age to be altogether different from his memories. It was a song on the radio he couldn’t grasp the name of, or an old photo he couldn’t remember taking. Either way, it irked him. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and wandered past the empty Post Office and dark storefronts. The entire town slept in post-holiday bliss, with everyone at easy peace but him. 

When he reached the General Store, he came to an abrupt stop. The lights were on, the faded and flickering  _ OPEN _ sign aimed his way. Before he knew it, he was shoving the door open to the tinkering of a bell.

A quick look around told Erik that it was the only place in town that hadn’t changed at all.

“Mornin’,” came a deep grunt from behind the counter. Erik raised a hand in greeting and glanced his way in time to catch the weathered old man at the register do a double-take before narrowing his eyes.

Erik stared back. “You remember me?” 

“‘Course,” he grumbled. “You used to steal my penny candy.”

Erik grimaced. “I - well.” He coughed. “Uh, got any coffee?”

“You good for it?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” Erik said.

The proprietor gestured with a jerk of his chin towards the back of the store.

Though he felt equal parts ashamed and embarrassed that the legacy he’d left behind was that of a petty candy thief, Erik couldn’t help but smile to himself as he poured coffee into a to-go cup. Someone other than Rowan and his mother remembered him. He’d left his fingerprints, in one way or another.

When Erik turned back and reached the counter with his steaming cup he stayed quiet, listening to the clanging of the ancient register. 

“That’ll be a dollar, then.”

Erik dug into his pockets and came up with a handful of wrinkled bills. He pulled one free and, after glancing at the candy display to his right, added a second dollar to the counter.

The old man stared at him, something impatient in the lines of his face. “What’s this?”

_ A hundred different days, _ Erik thought. He’d circled right back around to where he’d started, but that didn’t mean he’d found himself in the same place. “For the candy,” he said. “That should cover it.” 

The old man narrowed his eyes in consideration before turning back to the register, accepting both his word and the offering. Erik thought he saw the corner of his mouth tick up into something that could almost be called a grin. 

“Go on, then,” he grunted. “Take care.” 

“You, too,” Erik offered a small smile of his own before leaving to the chime of the bell. He pushed his way through the overgrown grass and found the path he and Rowan had trampled down the night before. He walked down the dock bridge, dodging holes and loose boards without even a thought for it, before sitting down at the edge. He took a sip of piping hot coffee, relished in the burn on his tongue and the warmth bleeding through the styrofoam to touch his fingers before setting it down beside his knee and pulling out his phone. 

The battery glared back at him in accusation at a lowly 18%.

Erik called his sister. When she didn’t answer, he hung up on the tinny recording insisting he leave a voicemail and called again. 

“God, what?” Mia answered on the fourth ring, sounding equal parts infuriated and half-asleep. “It’s early.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Erik replied, unbothered, as he watched the mist rise off the water.

He heard the rustling of blankets through the line. “What’s your problem now?”

“Why do you assume I have a problem?” he countered.

“Just spill it, Erik. Did the dinner go badly, or something?”

“Dinner could have been worse, I guess,” Erik mused, tossing a stick out into the lake and watching it bob back up to the surface.

“Then what?” Mia prompted. “Did something happen between you and Rowan?”

Erik hesitated, watching the ripples spread across the water. “Yeah,” he finally said, the word heavy enough to drown him as he parted with it.

Mia made an impatient noise. “I’m not awake enough to play this game. What are we talking here? A kiss? A dramatic public confession? Or did you two finally fu-”

“Jesus, Mia,” Erik interrupted, thoroughly scandalized. 

She laughed. “Oh, don’t be a baby. Like you’ve never heard that before.”

“Not from  _ you,” _ he shot back. “No, we didn’t - I mean, we did - he -” 

“Okay, gross. I don’t need to know details. So why are you calling me first thing in the morning instead of snuggling up to Rowan, basking in the glow of new love?” 

“Stop,” Erik said. “What, I can’t just give my baby sister a call?”

“No,” Mia argued, “not when it involves waking me up so you can avoid your problems.” 

“So you  _ do  _ think it’s a problem.” 

“I think  _ you’re _ a problem,” she sighed. “Listen, Erik. Rowan’s gonna freak out if he wakes up and you’re not there. So again,  _ why _ are you talking to me instead of him?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered at last, reluctant to let the admission go. Against his ear, his phone buzzed with an incoming message.

“You do. I get that you’ve been stuffing down your feelings for him for years or whatever, but it’s out now, it’s time to figure your shit out. There’s no reason to be afraid of him,” Mia added, her voice gentler. “He’s never left you before, has he?” 

“No,” Erik agreed, “I did the leaving.”

“Well,” she started, “just blame that on me and go be happy for once.”

“How’d you get to be so smart?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a grin. 

“It certainly wasn’t your influence,” Mia teased. He could hear the smile in her words. “Now I’m going back to bed. Love you.”

“Love you too, kid.” 

When the line beeped and disconnected, Erik looked down at his phone. 

**Rowan:** where’d you go? Just to get breakfast, right?

Erik smiled slightly. He knew Rowan well enough to read between the lines, to weed out the anxiety bleeding through the words. He tapped out a quick affirmative response. Before he could hit send, his phone went black. Despite his repetitive button pressing and a few complimentary smacks, it refused to come back on.

“Dammit,” he grumbled, before giving up and pocketing it. He picked up his coffee cup and stood, stretching as he did so. He had a stop to make before he made his way back home.

* * *

 

_ Where’d you go? Just to get breakfast, right?  _

 

Delivered and read, but not answered. Rowan sat on the couch closest to the front window, frowning at his phone. He looked out at the street, then back at his phone, and then tried to pretend he wasn’t compulsively checking either one when his mother appeared in the kitchen doorway. 

“Want some breakfast, love?” 

Rowan nearly broke his neck spinning back around when he caught sight of movement outside, though what he’d hoped was a person turned out to be a tree branch, swaying in the wind. “I, uh. Erik’s bringing something back.”

_ Please, just be bringing something back.  _

“Sure you don’t want anything? I can make pancakes.” 

Rowan weighed his options. To accept pancakes would be to accept Erik’s abandonment, surely. 

Pancakes sounded delicious just then, though.

He let out a heavy sigh. “No thanks, Mom. Don’t worry about it.” 

Amber watched him for a moment longer with an intense scrutiny that had him twitching before retreating back into the kitchen. He wondered if she’d just make the pancakes anyway.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and Rowan jumped.

**Gemma:** Hey, when would be a good time to chat? I could stop by the house. 

Rowan read the message and grimaced. It was an odd feeling, wanting to speak with her and also desperately wishing to avoid it at the same time. It was selfish to want to know how she was and where her life had taken her without being willing to resurrect all the unpleasantness between them, but his actions had never truly been buried and he owed her far more than just one honest conversation.

**Rowan:** come on by whenever you’re ready.

**Gemma:** I’ll head that way now.

He glanced out the window, one last cursory check for Erik, and settled in more comfortably to wait. It’s not like he was going anywhere. 

* * *

Fifteen minutes later found the pair of them sitting in the backyard, sharing the giant tree stump that was once a stage, a launchpad, even the foundation to a fairy garden. Rowan could remember how they’d decorated it with popsicle stick houses and flowers and pinecones, how they’d lie in wait for hours, waiting for mystical visitors that had never shown themselves. 

Rowan glanced sideways at Gemma. Her shoulder was pressed against his, her knees facing away, with her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked nice, but then, he’d always found her pretty - pretty in the way a sunset was pretty, or a brightly colored flower. Not in the way he found Erik, as though the stars, the sun, or simply the entire sky had conspired to exist inside a person.

Rowan sighed. None of them had ever stood a chance.

“Erik told me you teach,” Gemma said, finally breaking the silence that had hovered over them since stilted greetings and awkward smiles in his mother’s doorway. “That’s amazing.”

Rowan ducked his head. “It’s something. I enjoy it - we’ve got a recital next week. Uh, my students get to pick a piece of their choice they’d like to play, and I usually perform something as well. Remind the parents what they’re paying for, I guess.” 

He caught the corner of Gemma’s grin. “You sure you’re not just showing off?”

“Maybe a little,” Rowan conceded, his own smile blooming. “So, where’d you end up?”

“New York, this past year,” she said. “Designing clothes for a label. It’s not huge, but a few of my designs have ended up on racks.” 

“That’s great,” Rowan told her. “Really. Maybe you could send me something.” 

Gemma laughed. “I’m not sure my dresses are really your style.” 

“Hey, you never know.”

She knocked her knee into his, her smile softening. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore, you know.” 

Rowan glanced at her. “No?”

“No,” she agreed, shooting him a keen look. “I knew you best once, don’t forget.”

He let out a breath, one he’d likely been holding onto for years. “Yeah, I guess you did. I am sorry, though. For all of it. I didn’t...I wasn’t handling things well back then.”

“No, you weren’t. But I...well, I guess I should have known, too. Looking back, it was pretty obvious you didn’t want to get married. I feel stupid for not catching on until you ran away.”

Rowan winced. “Well. I was an asshole.”

“A bit,” Gemma said, no sting in her words. “But it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Rowan countered. “I want you to know, I’ve always regretted the way I treated you. It’s not an excuse, but I...I didn’t know myself very well back then, and I thought you could fix it. When I realized that wasn’t going to work, I didn’t see anything to do but leave. And you deserved a million times better than that, Gemma.” 

“We ended up okay, I think,” Gemma said, reaching over to take his hand. “Really. I don’t think I could have been who I wanted to be here in Cobblestone, not to mention married at eighteen to a boy who loved someone else.” She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. “I wanted to see you to know that you were okay. You left so suddenly, and you hadn’t been yourself for so long…” she shrugged. “Maybe I wanted you to see that I was okay, too, but I worried about you, Rowan. Even if you did break my heart when you left, I wanted you to be okay.” 

He returned the light pressure of her hand, so small tucked in his. “I wanted you to be okay, too.” 

Gemma smiled and looked down at her phone before leaning her head against his shoulder. “Now, I don’t have to leave for the airport for another hour, so bring me up to date with what’s going on with you and Erik, and why you came here pretending to be dating.” 

“Caught on to that, did you?” Rowan sighed, even as he tucked her closer against his side. “Well, it’s a story, for sure.” 

* * *

 

_ Figure your shit out. _

His sister’s orders echoed in his head as Erik took the steps up to Amber’s front porch slowly, a bag of pastries in one hand and his coffee going cold in the other. He reached the landing, drew in a deep breath, and paused. 

He could do this. It was just Rowan, and just him. They could figure this out.

Erik steeled himself and managed to wiggle his way into opening the door with his elbow on the handle. When he stepped inside, the house was nearly as quiet as it was when he left it. The living room was empty, as was the piano bench, where he’d expected to find Rowan. He couldn’t still be sleeping, surely -

“Oh, there you are,” Amber said lightly, startling him as she walked out of the kitchen, wringing a dish towel between her hands. She eyed the bag he held in his. “Those from Hotto’s?”

Erik felt his mouth twitch into a grin. “I, uh. Brought you a bear claw.” 

Amber beamed. “Thanks, love. Rowan’s out back with Gemma, but maybe you’d keep me company in the kitchen with these pastries, so they can have a few more minutes?”

He paused midstep to the kitchen, eyes flicking towards the back door. He wondered where he and Rowan stood, after last night. He wondered if it was still his job to run interference. He wondered, too, if the day would ever come when he didn’t feel the slightest bit jealous of Gemma, who had been able to keep Rowan when Erik had to leave him behind. “Sure,” he said warily, before following her to the table and trying to hold on to the dregs of his good cheer. 

Amber settled into a chair and reached over to take the bag from him. “Those two have been needing to have a good chat for years now, I’d say.” She clicked her tongue and unwrapped her bear claw. “Ever since the wedding. Mhmm, these are delicious.”

Erik blinked once, twice. “The what?”

Amber frowned at him over the table before delicately reaching up to swipe powdered sugar from her mouth. “The wedding? Of course, Rowan ended up leaving the week before it was meant to happen. What a mess it was, the whole town was looking forward to it, when all of a sudden, Rowan was gone and Gemma was heartbroken.” 

He stared at the table, at the powdered sugar spots she’d dropped on the surface. He tried to string together words and meanings that didn’t quite want to make sense in his head.

_ Ishouldtellyousomething _

“Rowan and Gemma were supposed to get married?” he asked slowly, each word formed with care. 

It was Amber’s turn to blink, to match sounds to incomprehensible meanings. Her expression turned uneasy. “You mean, you didn’t know?”

Erik put his hands flat on the table and pushed his chair back. The scrape of the legs over the floor was an explosive sound in the abruptly silent kitchen. “I-” he opened his mouth, closed it. A lie wouldn’t come, but then, neither would the truth.

_ He never told me. In four years, he never told me. _

Erik’s darting gaze found them through the window then, tucked together on a tree stump. It reminded him viscerally of the moment in the grocery store, just two days before.

They had a world between them. Gemma had a piece of Rowan that Erik would never know, and all at once, he couldn’t bear it.

Erik straightened up. “I’ll be upstairs.” 

Amber watched him, concern lining her face. “Erik, honey-”

“It’s fine, really, I just -” Erik didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know where it was going, anyway. He took a step back towards the living room, towards his escape route, and fled with little thought for dignity. Any other protests she might have offered were drowned out by his feet on the stairs, by the quick, decisive slam of Rowan’s bedroom door snapping closed as he leaned back against it.

He shut his eyes and counted his breaths before blinking and letting his gaze ping-pong around the room. Rowan - in a fit of restlessness, no doubt - had cleaned up. The bed was made, their haphazardly tossed clothing from the party had all been picked up off the floor and folded on the desk. There was nothing at all left in evidence of the night before, no trace of what had conspired between them in that very room, as if it had never happened at all. 

* * *

 

Erik was upstairs, waiting for him. Rowan’s stomach was in knots, tied with threads of excitement and uncertainty, combining into a tangle that made him thankful he hadn’t yet managed to grab something to eat. Still, as he climbed the stairs, the flame of hope flickered in his chest. He pushed open his bedroom door and paused on the threshold, only for that flame to abruptly and spectacularly sputter out.

Erik had his bag open on the bed and was stuffing clothes into it with wild abandon. His toothbrush stuck out one of the side pockets. The nice shoes he’d worn for the party were tied to the straps.

Rowan took in the scene, his brows drawing together. “What are you…” he trailed off, uncertain he wanted an answer to his almost-question.

Erik froze. His hands stilled on his bag for a second before he continued packing with greater haste, and he didn’t once look Rowan’s way. “I, uh. Got a call. I’ve got a shift.” 

“You said you were off,” Rowan said slowly. “Our flight’s not until after dinner.” The warning signs of panic stirred in his blood. His heart started beating a vicious, angry tempo. 

Erik jerked his shoulder in a shrug. “It’s fine, I’ll catch a bus.”

“You’ll  _ catch a bus _ back to Wilmington?” Rowan echoed, incredulous. “That’ll take hours.”

Erik’s eyebrows furrowed. He shoved a sweatshirt into his bag, stuffed it down to make it fit, then fumbled with the zipper.

Rowan wanted to cross the room to his side, to take Erik’s shoulders in his hands and possibly shake him until he spoke, but he wasn’t altogether sure his feet would make the trip. Rowan drew in a breath before asking softly, “Is this about last night?”

Erik’s back tensed. “What about last night?”

“What about -” Rowan stammered. “What  _ about it? _ You know what about! We- we, and now, you’re just...leaving?” 

“I told you, I’ve got a shift.”

“You’re lying,” Rowan said. “Tell me what’s wrong, what happened between waking up and now-”

“I just have to go,” Erik said roughly, the words coming out through his teeth. “Okay?”

“No, it’s not just okay!” Rowan shot back, something desperate in his voice. “You can’t just leave, come on-”

Erik finally looked up, an eyebrow arched, but his face blank otherwise. A mask to hide behind, one that hadn’t been used on Rowan in years. “I can’t?”

The tenuous thread Rowan held onto twisted and snapped. “Erik,” he begged. “Just talk to me, please.”

Erik turned his gaze towards the window, something hard and taut about his expression. “I can’t do this right now.” 

The bottom dropped out of Rowan’s stomach, out of his world. “Can’t do what?” he asked faintly.

“You, me,  _ this,” _ he gestured to the space between them with a flick of his hand. “It wasn’t…the whole pretending thing went too far, and now I’ve got to go. We need to cool off.” 

Rowan stared at him, stung. His heartbeat pounded behind his eyes, under his nails, livid and painful beneath his skin. “The pretending thing,” he said, slowly. “So, you were pretending then, when you kissed me back?” 

Erik’s mouth turned down into a frown. “Rowan-”

“You were pretending, last night, when I-” he broke off and let out a shaky breath. “So now you’re just going to leave, then. Again. You’re just running away, again -”

Erik’s hands balled into fists. “I did not run away.”

“Well, one day everything was fine, and then the next I sat at that dock until the sun went down waiting for you to show up.” Rowan accused, feeling out of breath, out of everything. “So this feels pretty familiar.” 

“I didn’t  _ run away,” _ Erik snapped, throwing his hands out. “They made me go, got it? I lost everything, you think I chose that?” 

Abruptly, Rowan fell silent, the wind sucked out of his sails. He wrapped his arms around his elbows and held. When he spoke again, it was small. “You never told me that.” 

“Just like you never fucking told me you were supposed to marry Gemma?”

A beat, then another. Rowan opened his mouth and closed it, before finally finding the words to speak. His voice was hoarse when he asked, “Is that what this is about?” 

“You brought me here trying to fend her off only to end up snuggled up to her out in the back garden, so you tell me,” Erik said, the words bitter.

“That can’t  _ possibly-” _ Rowan started, his mind reeling. “You don’t-”

“So you’re one to talk about running away,” Erik continued over his feeble objections, unstoppable once he’d started, “since you did the same thing.”  

Rowan stared at him. Erik was a coiled spring, ready- as he always was - for either fight or flight. With a misery potent enough to drown in, Rowan wondered why they’d never thought to find a middle ground. 

They’d never needed it before.

“I gotta go,” Erik said again, breaking the silence and slinging the strap of his backpack over one shoulder.

There was nothing he could do to stop him, not when he was like this. Erik had bricked up a wall that stretched miles high, and Rowan didn’t have it in him to be a wrecking ball. He deflated. “Will I see you at home later?” he asked, quiet and beaten down.

Something in Erik twisted and broke before Rowan’s eyes. “I guess,” Erik muttered, before pushing past him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Rowan stared at the bed for a beat, then another, before tearing out of the room after him. 

Erik slapped a hand on the front door, ducked his head to his chest to breathe, and then left before Rowan made it halfway to him. 

Rowan went still as the door swung shut in front of him, and immediately, the house was quiet. He couldn’t fathom just how they’d gotten here, how they’d fallen so far so quickly. How they’d gone from being on the same team to shouting at each other in his bedroom, how they’d gone from kissing, from  _ loving, _ to this - to angry words and sullen silences and running away without bandaging the wounds earned from the battle. 

Rowan backed up until his ankles hit the stairs and he dropped down to sit. Minutes, he thought. Minutes, that was all it took, for everything to implode. It’d happened faster than a tornado, faster than he could play Moonlight Sonata, faster even than he’d had Erik coming undone beneath his hands, just the night before -

He didn’t know how long he sat there, eyes on the door, heart at his feet, before he heard his mother’s voice and the hesitation in her words. 

“Is Erik going to be back in time for dinner?”

Rowan took a deep breath and held it in until his chest ached. He pressed his knuckles to his forehead to try to relieve some of the tension there. When he dropped his hand away, it flooded right back in. “No,” he said faintly. “No, I don’t think so.”

His mother disappeared. Rowan heard the sink tap turn off, silencing the flow of water, and then she was back, stepping in close and slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow. She led him out of the hall and into the kitchen. He followed. He fell into a chair at her wordless insistence and let his gaze drop to the wood grain in the tabletop as she pulled back a chair and sat down across from him.

“Rowan,” she murmured, soft and knowing and altogether too much. He felt it keenly as something inside of him finally gave way under the pressure.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he started. “I  _ know _ \- he left again, just like last time. But it’s not - he’ll come back, or I’ll find him, I-” 

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Amber interrupted. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes. “I was going to say that loving someone is one of the easiest and hardest things you’ll ever do.” 

Rowan looked up and blinked.

His mother watched him, her expression serious. “It’s easy because most of the time it just happens, you know. You look at someone one day and you realize they’re a piece of your heart. But it’s also the hardest, because you can never really know how long you get to keep them, or if one day you’re going to have to let them go.” 

The back of his throat burned. When he forced words through, they came out ashen. “You think I should let him go?” 

“Honey, no.” Amber reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers. “I think that boy’s never once had anyone hold onto him the way you do.” 

Rowan’s brow furrowed. “I don’t...you don’t like him. You didn’t want me to be - you want me to be with Gemma.”

Amber sighed. “I  _ do _ like him,” she corrected. “I’ve just known, ever since the day you brought him home with you and begged me to love him, that he was the one I would lose you to. Gemma, at least...at least you’d have stayed close.” 

“Mom,” Rowan started, but she held out a hand to stop him, and squeezed his fingers with her other. 

“No, let me - you and I have had a wall between us for years, love, and I want to apologize for my part in putting it there. I know I...I didn’t react the way I maybe should have, or the way you wanted me to. I didn’t want your life to be harder, but I should have known that wouldn’t change anything. Instead, I drove you away, and I’ve missed you ever since.” 

_ “Mom,” _ Rowan said again, tangling his fingers with hers and tugging until she looked at him with misty eyes. “You didn’t drive me away.” He looked down at the table, as though it might offer him the words he was looking for. “When I was here, I always felt like...like I was in a cage. But I put myself there, Mom. It wasn’t you. I wanted so badly to be what you wanted, but I couldn’t be  _ me _ here. I couldn’t be who I wanted to be in Cobblestone, but I didn’t leave because of you. It wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry I made you feel like it was. I shouldn’t have left like that.” 

“You listen to me, Rowan,” she said, making no move to dash away the tears that slid down her cheeks. “There has never been a day,  _ a minute, _ that you haven’t been who I wanted, that I haven’t loved all of you.” 

Rowan closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. He raised their joined hands and pressed the back of hers to his forehead.

“You come out of that cage, now,” his mother murmured, “and lock it shut behind you. I’ve never been prouder of anything in my life than I am of you.”

Rowan let out a relieved, though somewhat watery, chuckle. “I love you, Mom.”

“Now,” Amber said, wiping at her eyes. “I’m making your favorite stew for dinner. After that, you catch that flight, and you go get that boy of yours. I think he needs you to not let go.”

* * *

 

When Rowan made it home later that evening there were no lights on in the house. That was his first clue. 

He let the door fall closed behind him and stepped further inside, flight-weary and fight-weary. He left his shoes on.

The house was quiet. Nothing from the television, no water running through the pipes. That was his second. Rowan jingled his keys in his hand and sighed. He didn’t need anything more to tell him what, deep down, he already knew.

Rowan drew in a breath to call out his name, only to think better of it and snap his teeth together hard enough to hurt. The answering silence might just have finished him off.

Erik hadn’t come home.

Rowan flipped on the light switch in the hall before trudging into the living room and tossing his backpack onto the couch. He scrubbed his palms over his eyes and made his way into the dim kitchen and remembered how, right before they’d left, Erik sat at the table in Rowan’s stolen sweatshirt, grumpy and teasing but still  _ with him, _ the two of them together if not in heart than at least in spirit. It was only days before, but it felt like years.

Rowan sank into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands.

_ What if he never comes back, what if I blew it, what if, what if, what if - _

His phone vibrated in his pocket. After considering whether or not to answer, Rowan decided he had all night and an empty schedule with which to torture himself if he liked. He reached for it with numb fingers and blinked at the screen’s brightness in the dark.

**Jade:** He’s not at the bar.

No, Rowan thought, he wouldn’t be. The story he’d offered about picking up a shift had been just that - a lie, carelessly tossed out by one who hated being on the receiving end of them. Rowan stared at the text for a few seconds, or perhaps an hour, before typing out a response.

**Rowan:** he’s not here either

He put his head back down and watched, sideways, as the text changed from delivered to read. A moment later, his phone rang. Jade’s face appeared on the screen, making an absurd face for the camera. Rowan let one cheek rest against the table and balanced his phone on the other. “Yeah.”

“Rowan,” Jade’s voice came through the speaker, concern embedded in his name. “What happened?”

He blew out a breath through his nose. “I fucked it up, is what happened.” 

Jade made a long ‘hmmmm’ noise. It was a wordless _ I told you so,  _ but the sad sort, the kind of I told you so that had never wanted to be right in the first place. Jade wouldn’t say it. She wouldn’t even  _ think  _ to say it, but Rowan knew it for what it was, all the same. 

“Tell me,” she said.

“I pushed him too far. You told me not to get my hopes up but I did anyway, and now it’s my fault.”

“Rowan,” Jade said again, softer this time. She paused for a moment, as though running through multiple questions in her head before finally settling on the most productive. “Where could he be, now?” 

The only possible answer struck him then, as if it had merely been waiting for Jade’s question to show itself. Rowan looked down at the keys in his hand and sighed, long and tired. Thoughts of diving into bed and feeling sorry for himself for the night dissolved. “I know where he is. I’ll call you later.” 

* * *

  
  


[SATURDAY]

 

It was nearing 2 AM when Rowan reached his destination, strung-out on little sleep and too much coffee to replace it. The night wind stung lips thoroughly chapped from his gnawing while he drove. He hunched his shoulders against the chill and knocked on the door softly once; upon receiving no answer, he began to pound on it, his patience and manners both gone with the midnight hour. 

His insistence rattled the miniature whiteboard branding the dorm as Mia’s. He watched her name blur as it shook. When the door finally opened, just a crack, Mia poked her face through the gap, scowling. She had eyeliner smudged under one eye but not the other, and two pencils holding her ponytail up high on her head. She looked tired, Rowan thought. He felt guilty for it, but it was simply one fault among many of his in recent hours, a pile mounting higher and higher. 

When Mia met his eyes, relief burst across her face, chasing away the suspicious anger if not the exhaustion. “Oh, Rowan. Thank  _ God, _ get him the hell out of here.” 

Rowan pressed his lips together. A dam inside his chest broke free and flooded. “He’s here, then.”

“Yeah, he’s here, eating all my damn food and moaning on the couch like he’s dying. Take him back, I don’t want him anymore,” she said, before disappearing from view. The door opened wider as she drew it back to let him in. 

Rowan stepped past her and into the dorm suite. Erik looked up from the couch and blinked. He glanced between the two of them, before his glare settled on his sister with betrayal plain in his eyes. 

Mia thrust a finger in his direction. “Deal with it, Erik! Then go home, I have exams next week.” With that, she retreated into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Abruptly alone in the room, neither of them spoke. Rowan stared at Erik, and Erik stared somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes. 

Rowan cleared his throat. “So when you said you were going home, I take it you lied.” No accusation, no whining, just a toneless fact.

Erik’s brows drew together. “Well,” he began, only to close his mouth. He didn’t seem to have an answer ready.

Rowan shook his head and sat down on the edge of the large wooden trunk masquerading as a coffee table, as Erik didn’t seem inclined to make room for him on the futon. “I didn’t come here to give you a hard time, alright?”

Erik watched him. There was something wary in his eyes that made Rowan want to put his own head through a wall. “Then why’d you come?”

The idea that he wasn’t welcome in Erik’s space, a world to which he’d always been granted entry before, stung far more than Rowan was prepared for. He took the blow as it came and braced himself against further assault. “I wanted to know you were okay. You just took off and you haven’t answered your phone.”

Erik studied the wall behind Rowan with great interest. “It’s dead.”

“Right,” Rowan replied. He fell silent. He could feel Erik’s gaze burning against his cheek when he looked away, but when Rowan tried to catch him at it, Erik’s eyes darted anywhere else. Rowan let out a breath through his nose. “What did you mean when you said they made you go?” he asked, his voice soft.

Erik’s expression pinched. Finally, he sighed. “The week before I left, Mia had a fight with her parents. She ran from home in the middle of the night and hopped on a bus to come find me.” 

Rowan watched him, a pit opening wide in his stomach.

Erik picked at the peeling flap on the fake leather futon. “My foster home called her dad and he came out to get her. He was pissed, and even though Mia tried to tell him it was her idea and I hadn’t told her to sneak out, he still blamed me. So they called the social worker responsible for my placements, and,” he shrugged. “Her parents have money. They can get things done if they want.” 

“They had you moved,” Rowan said, the words hollow. “They made you go away somewhere she couldn’t follow.” 

Erik exhaled. “Yeah, well. It was a long time ago.” 

Rowan’s heart ached. For Erik, for Mia, a bit for himself. For the innocent hearts that had been broken years ago, for nothing more than the crime of loving one another. “That next day when I went back to school, I asked everyone where you were. Finally, one of our teachers took pity on me and said that all they knew was that your social worker came in to tell them you’d withdrawn. They assumed you’d run away, and that’s the story I got. Why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

“Well, I didn’t run away,” Erik said, an edge in his voice. “You never asked, so I didn’t tell. But I guess you’d say the same thing, right?”

“That’s not what I’d say,” Rowan countered. “I’d tell you I never said a word about Gemma because I didn’t want you to ever look at me the way you did back in Cobblestone, like I was a coward, an asshole.”

“That’s crap,” Erik muttered. “I didn’t look at you like that.”

“You did,” Rowan argued. “Look, dating Gemma, running out on the wedding like that, I was both of those things. It was the worst thing I ever did, and I didn’t want to spread it around. I didn’t want  _ you  _ to know that about me.”

“Then why’d you do it?” Erik asked. “Why’d you get with her in the first place, why-”

Rowan took a deep breath when Erik ran out of ‘whys’. “Because I missed you,” he said, his voice flat. “Because I missed you and it broke my heart when you disappeared, and I didn’t know what to do with all that was leftover inside without you there. I didn’t understand why I felt the way I did, I didn’t understand  _ anything, _ so I leaned on her. She started hinting at being more, and I guess I just let it happen. I thought, I love her, too, right? So I let it happen.”

“Asking her to marry you isn’t ‘letting it happen’,” Erik accused.

“Well I didn’t  _ ask,” _ Rowan bit out, trying to rein in the urge to snap back. “Mom and Gemma just...when we graduated and neither of us had anywhere to go, they just started planning, and I...I just wanted to be what they wanted. I wasn’t in a great place back then, alright? I’m not proud of any of it.” 

Erik made a face but said nothing else.

Rowan felt it then, the weighty fatigue dragging down every muscle, every nerve. He was tired to the bone. He scrubbed a hand over his face, his palm pricked by the day’s growth of stubble on his cheeks. “I didn’t come here to fight with you,” he said, his voice small. “The opposite, actually. Tell me what happened,” he begged, “tell me why we’re fighting at all.” 

Erik looked away. “We’re not fighting.” 

“Feels like fighting to me.”

Erik sighed. “I’m not mad at you,” he relented. “I mean, I guess I was, for not telling me all this shit, for making me find out from your mother. I just...needed some space.” 

“From me,” Rowan clarified.

“Not from you...from all of it.”

“And yet,” Rowan said, his voice soft and infinitely sad, “you still won’t look me in the eye.” 

Erik sagged on the couch. His shoulders sank, everything sank. He dropped his head into his hands. “What do you want from me?” 

The sight of Erik’s suffering gutted him, as it always had. Rowan let out a breath, slow and heavy, and everything inside him deflated with the loss of it. “Nothing you don’t want to give,” he said gently, before standing up. “I love you, you know. I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen years old, and I can’t see a world where I’m not. I’m not sorry for what happened between us the other night, because I’d be lying if I said that kissing you and loving you wasn’t exactly what I wanted. But if you regret it, then...I’m sorry for that.” Rowan looked down at his hands, spread wide in plea and supplication both. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Gemma. If that’s what this is about, then we can figure it out. But if not…” he dropped his hands to his side, his chin to his chest. “I’ll forget about it. Just...come home. I’ll pretend it never happened, okay?” 

Erik stared at him, his eyebrows knitted together, his face twisted as if something deep inside hurt. Rowan waited. He might not have been breathing. It was entirely possible that neither of them were. 

Erik’s exhale shook as it left him. He said,  _ “Rowan,” _ but it sounded like an apology and a broken denial both, all tangled up in the two syllables that made up his name.

Rowan watched him for a moment longer before nodding and shoving a hand into his pocket, digging for his keys. His shaking fingers missed them once, twice, before latching on. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

Rowan headed for the door and didn’t stop,  _ couldn’t, _ even if he wanted to. The only thing that would have drawn him back was one word from Erik, but it never came. He pushed out of the dorm suite and out into the hall, where he could hear nothing but the rain pounding on the sidewalk.

Rowan glanced back once. The door stayed closed.

He walked out into the rain and let it soak him to the bone, and Erik let him go. 

* * *

 

Erik didn’t sleep that night.

He stretched out on the futon and watched the raindrops splatter against the window before sliding down out of sight, an endless stream. He paced an impressive rut into the floor. He rearranged Mia’s bookshelf by color and found she had an absurd amount of books with golden spines. He missed Rowan like a limb. He turned on the television and left the volume on low, and tried to get lost in it. No distraction managed to erase the image burned onto the backs of his eyelids; a photo-perfect picture of the broken look on Rowan’s face right before he walked out.

_ I’ll leave you to it, then, _ he’d said. Leave him to what? To stew in the mess they’d made, he supposed, a bitter mix of hurt feelings, guilt, and longing, together all potent enough to poison.

Erik didn’t know what time it was when Mia emerged from her bedroom. When he looked over, her hair was a nightmare and she had dark circles lining her eyes. He felt endlessly guilty for that, too. 

Mia looked back at him. She sighed, shook her head, and crossed the room to flop down on the couch. She threw her feet into his lap and stared at the ceiling for a long moment before saying, “So, you sent him packing, then.”

Erik dropped his head back against the cushion, too tired to hold it up. “I didn’t.” 

“I mean, he basically threw himself at your feet and you just let him go.”

Her words struck him in an already too tender spot. “What’d you do, huh? Sit in the corner with a cup again the wall?” 

“Hey, don’t get mad. You decided to have a spat in  _ my  _ house, and I learned to eavesdrop from the best.” Mia leveled him with a serious look. “Erik, is that all there is to it? You know I’m always on your side, but he came all the way here to try to make it right. Are you honestly  _ that  _ upset that he was supposed to get married and didn’t tell you? There’s no way you tell him every single thing that’s gone on in your life.”

A headache growled somewhere behind his eyes and clawed for freedom. Erik sighed and pressed his thumb to the spot between his brows. “Look, I don’t know, okay?”

Mia hummed. “You wanna know what I think?”

He cut his eyes her way. “I don’t think I do.”

She ignored him. “I think the answer’s as obvious as it is stupid.” 

He grumbled under his breath, and Mia swatted at him before continuing. “Erik, just because he ran away from her, doesn’t mean he’s going to run away from you. If anything, he ran away from her to find his way back to you.” 

Erik blinked, then frowned. “That’s not…” he trailed off, unable to think of a rebuttal as words dried on his tongue. 

It was entirely possible that she was right. Realization dripped in slowly, then all at once, clear water where there’d been a muddy puddle seconds before. He felt a little too known, just then.

“Yeah?” Mia challenged. “Then what? Because it sounds to me like you’re just scared. It’s not really fair to hate him for keeping secrets when you do the same thing.”

Erik made a begrudging noise of agreement. He’d let go of the mad sometime around the fifth mile outside Cobblestone, after all, only to be left with a turmoil he hadn’t quite understood in its wake.

Mia’s face softened. “I heard him say he loves you,” she pointed out, wiggling her sock foot into his ribs. “Do you love him?”

Erik flicked her toes. Did he love Rowan? It was a ridiculous question, like asking if the sun would rise. His feelings for Rowan were a constant, an ironclad truth, a song in his head that played endlessly, gaining sharper clarity with each repeat. He’d given his heart away at sixteen years old and had never once thought to ask for it back. 

He didn’t even have to consider the answer. “You know I do.”

“Then figure out where to go from here,” Mia told him, matter-of-fact.

“What does that mean?” 

She shrugged. “Hell if I know,” she patted his knee and sat up, then stood. “I can’t solve everything for you. Listen, you can stay here ‘til you figure it out, but you have to let me study, got it? Otherwise, you gotta go.” 

Erik hauled himself up off the futon, wincing as his body protested movement after being still for so long. He stretched and dropped a hand onto Mia’s hair, ruffling it through his fingers. “Thanks, kid. I think I’ll go for a walk, get some coffee or something. You want some?”

“More than air,” Mia replied. “Black, please.”

Erik grinned as he reached for his shoes. 

* * *

 

[THE NEXT FRIDAY]

 

The grand foyer teemed with far more people then Erik had expected for the evening, all dressed in their Sunday best and milling about; parents waiting to be allowed in to the theater to race for the prime photo-taking seats, or the occasional odd couple, eager for the chance to listen to music at only five dollars a ticket. Erik, tugging irritably at his tie and trying to find some relief in the too-hot, too-full room, figured he was the only one there who felt distinctly out of place.

He was there for Rowan, and only Rowan.

After another two days at Mia’s, after three days more on Veronica and Serena’s couch, he felt an ache in his chest so sharp he feared it’d pierce something vital. 

Homesickness, he thought. He was homesick, for quite possibly the first time in his life. 

It was time to go home. Time to escape Veronica’s ceaseless complaining about him running out of clothes that didn’t reek and Serena’s stream of absurd but well-intentioned ideas of how he could ‘go big’ - filling the house with flowers or renting a skywriter among them - it was time, past time perhaps, but he had a stop to make.

Which brought him to where he was. While Erik might not have been able to think of a grand gesture, he could come up with something simpler - the two of them as they’d always been. Stripped of the crowd, the lights, and the circumstances, it was this: Erik, Rowan, and a piano with a song to fill the silence between them.

When the doors opened and the crowd thinned out, Erik drew in a shaking breath and rolled up the program in his hand. 

He found a seat near the back of the theater and watched the stage. Kids of varying ages came and went. The music they played blurred in his ears; pretty, but inconsequential. Nothing that spoke to him. Erik waited.

Finally, Rowan walked out onto the stage, as handsome as ever in his black suit under bright lights. Erik leaned forward in his seat.

Rowan cleared his throat and hunched, bending low enough to speak into the microphone set for a height far shorter than his. “Good evening everyone, thanks so much for coming. I hope you all enjoyed the hard work your kids have put into perfecting their pieces these past few months. I know they were all excited to share their music with you. I’m lucky enough to teach a wonderful, talented group of kids, and I want to thank all of you parents out there for letting me teach them. I’ve always found it easier to put feeling into music instead of words, and to share that language with others, to help them create their own language, well. It’s an amazing thing. As a proper thank you, I’d like to close out tonight by sharing a piece I’ve been working on. I hope you enjoy.”

Rowan ducked his head at the roar of applause before crossing the stage to settle on the piano bench. He popped his knuckles. He swept his hair back. Erik stared, recommitting every gesture to memory as if it’d been years instead of days. 

When Rowan’s fingers fell to the keys and he began to play, Erik closed his eyes. 

It was the same song Rowan had played at the Thanksgiving party. The one he’d dedicated to him, but somehow  _ different _ without any discernible changes but one. At the party, Rowan had played happily, hopefully. He’d been buoyant and his fingers light, and the tune he’d performed then spoke of possibilities, of maybes.

Now, Rowan’s song was somber and grave, no less beautiful but all the more haunting. It was Rowan’s heart without hope, and it was a broken, unthinkable thing.

When Rowan played it before, Erik realized he hadn’t really been listening. 

The aching hole inside of him gaped open wide and bled. What was a song played for you by someone you loved if not the sound between your heartbeats, if not the time between your breaths and his? Erik let the notes echo in his hollow spaces until it was all he could feel, all he could hear, and he listened, he listened, he  _ listened. _

Erik dropped his chin to his chest and thought again of Lyra and Orpheus, of music that could charm rocks and sway trees and drown out even the songs of sirens. He thought, not for the first time, that though Rowan’s music might not fall forests and move mountains, it could almost certainly heal.

He opened his eyes and unrolled the program wrinkled from his tight grip and flipped to the last page, where he found Rowan’s name and the song he’d chosen next to it.  _ I Love You, as performed by Riopy. _

Erik ran his finger over the print before looking back up at the stage and the man who commanded it. He remembered Jade’s teasing, then.

_ So, is this song going out to anyone in particular?  _

He could see Rowan’s shy smile, the blush that spread across his cheeks.

_ Oh, well. Uh, my boyfriend, of course. _

For Rowan, it was a simple thing. He’d always loved him, even when he thought Erik had run, even when Rowan had thought maybe he’d do it again, even when he _ had. _ Rowan had loved him through it all, tirelessly and patiently, and without ever asking for anything in return, except for him to just come home.

The moment Rowan finished playing, he’d keep his eyes closed and let the last of the music fade away. He’d let it find the jagged spaces inside and seal them closed, if only for a fleeting second. Erik knew it, as he knew the sun would set and rise again, as he knew he loved him, too - tirelessly if not patiently, wholly if not flawlessly. When Rowan’s fingers stilled on the keys, his head bowed, Erik rose from his seat and slipped out of the theater.

* * *

 

The fountain at his back sprayed him with freezing water when the wind shifted, but it was the best vantage point Erik could find to watch the doors. He watched every single person who’d been inside leave first - parents with their arms thrown around their children, basking in pride, or couples huddled close against the chill, hands tangled and smiles wide. Rowan was surely the last through the doors, head down and eyes on the stairs as he descended. Erik watched him, his eyes hungry.

He could tell the moment Rowan noticed him. He paused, his feet freezing on the concrete. Everything about him tensed - his shoulders, his expression, his hands. He looked ready to draw his weapons and fight, should he need to.

Within seconds, he slumped, the battle-ready stance ebbing away as quickly as it appeared. He looked like he’d rather turn his sword inward against himself than ever lift it against Erik.

Erik raised his chin and met Rowan’s eyes, making it clear he’d been waiting, as if he could have been there for any other reason. Slowly, Rowan crossed the courtyard to stand in front of him, leaving a careful few feet still between them. His hands went from his jacket pockets to his arms, then back again. Erik noticed he was wearing the cufflinks he’d given to him.

“You’re back, then,” Rowan said.

“Looks that way.” 

Rowan nodded slightly. “Veronica told me you were staying on their couch.” 

“I did, yeah,” Erik rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to just barge in on you, you know. After all...that.” 

Rowan sighed. “It’s your home, too. You’re always welcome to it.” 

Erik shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do with them or how to keep them still. “Listen,” he began, “I’m sorry about last week.”

Rowan raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to-”

“I do,” Erik interrupted, “I was a dick about it.”

He chewed on his lower lip, his gaze measuring as he stayed quiet.

“Mia knocked some sense into me,” Erik continued. “She said I was being hypocritical, and all that shit.”

“I tried to tell you, I swear,” Rowan said. “When we got there, I knew I needed to, I just…”

Erik held up a hand. “Really, I get it. You were right, that wasn’t all there was to it,” he let out a breath. “Mia also told me there was no sense in being scared of you, that you’d never leave, that just because you ran from Gemma doesn’t mean...you know.”

“I wouldn’t,” Rowan offered. 

“Yeah, I think I knew that. I just...I’m not good at all... _ this,” _ he said, waving his hands in between them. 

Rowan looked up, the slightest hint of a smile curling his mouth. Hope, ever so tentatively fighting its way back. “You think  _ I  _ am?” 

“Well, no,” Erik conceded. “I guess neither of us are.” 

Rowan seemed to hold his breath for a moment before it broke out of him in a gust. “What’s all this about, then?” 

“It’s about the fact that I’m an ass. I’m sorry I said it wasn’t real, or that I was pretending when - that was a shit thing to say.”

Rowan nodded slowly, his eyes locked on Erik’s. “Did you mean it?” 

“No,” Erik said softly, “no, I didn’t mean it.” 

Rowan stared, his chest falling and rising rapidly. Erik stared back.

“So,” Rowan said, before abruptly losing his nerve.

“So,” Erik echoed, shifting his weight off the fountain and taking a step closer to him. “So, about that thing you said at Mia’s.”

Rowan ducked his head. “I, well. Yeah.”

Erik took another step, closer and closer until they were nearly chest to chest, heart to heart. “I love you too, you know. Probably since the first day I met you.”

Rowan blinked, then split into a beatific grin, albeit a shy one. “Yeah?”

Erik brought his hand up, lifting Rowan’s chin with his knuckles and letting his own smile mirror his in the dark. “Yeah.”

Rowan let go of a shaking breath. “So, uh. Now what?”

Erik shrugged. “I mean, I know we’ve got some stuff to talk about, but really, I’d like to go home.”

Rowan smiled. “Well, you should have come home days ago.”

Erik nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “Yeah, you’re right. One more thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

Erik grinned, trailing his fingers from Rowan’s collar to his jaw, before cupping his cheek and bringing him down as he leaned in and caught Rowan’s mouth with his. Rowan was still for only a moment before his hands went to Erik's hair, his chest swelled to bump Erik’s, and Erik smiled against his lips before drawing back, just enough to see his face.

There were many things about Rowan that Erik knew by heart. Fear, he realized, had come from the brutal reminder that he didn’t have him memorized entirely, that maybe he wasn’t as perfectly safe as Erik once believed. But looking at him now, something open and raw in his eyes, Erik knew that there were still things he could learn. 

Safety alone had never been reason enough to stop him from jumping in, and _oh,_ how he wanted to learn.

Erik kissed him once more, one that lingered until Rowan gasped. Erik whispered, “Want to get out of here?”

Rowan’s fingers grazed over his scalp in a way that nearly made Erik purr. With eyes dark as the night around them, he nodded. “Let’s go home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you thank you thank you for your patience, for reading, for words of encouragement and for sticking along through this ride! I hope you enjoyed and that you'll let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, I'm working on a sequel for Once Upon A Dream, so if that sounds like a jolly good time to you, maybe keep your eye out! Love to all and to all a goodnight. <3


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